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SOME STRANGE CORNERS
OF OUR COUNTRY

NAVAJO BLANKET.

SOME STRANGE CORNERS
OF OUR COUNTRY

THE WONDERLAND OF THE SOUTHWEST

CHARLES F. ^U

MMIS

AUTHOR OF " TEE-IVAHN FOLK-LORE," "A NEW MEXICO
DAVID," "A TRAMP ACROSS THE CONTINENT." ETC.

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THE KEY/ YORK

PUBLIC LIBRARY

5958S8A

ASTOR, LENOX AND

TIJLDEN FOUNDATIONS

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The Century Co

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THE DE VINNE PRESS.

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• • 'e. • • »/»••••

To MY Wife : Who has

SHARED THE HARDSHIPS AND

THE Pleasures of Exploring
THE Strange Corners.

CD
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CONTENTS

PAGE

I The Grandest Gorge in the World 1

II A Forest of Agate 20

III The American Sahara 28

IV The Rattlesnake Dance 43
Y Where they Beg the Bear's Pardon 58

VI The Witches' Corner 66

VII The Magicians 75

VIII The Self-Crucifiers 90

IX Homes that were Forts 94

X Montezuma's Well 122

XI Montezuma's Castle 134

XII The Greatest Natural Bridge on Earth 142

XIII The Stone Autograph- Album 163

XIV The Rivers of Stone 183

XV The Navajo Blanket 198

XVI The Blind Hunters 208

XVII Finishing an Indian Boy 219

XVIII The Praying Smoke 228

XIX The Dance of the Sacred Bark 235

XX Doctoring the Year 243

XXI An Odd People at Home 255

XXII A Saint in Court 262

vii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

Navajo Blanket frontispiece

Drawn by F. E. Lummis

Initial W 1

Drawn by C. T. Hill

The Grand Canon of the Colorado. General View 3

Drawn by T. Moran. Engraved by W. J, Linton

Another View of the Grand Canon 6

Drawn by William H. Holmes, Reduced from the large
plate in the Second Annual Report of the U. S. Geologi-
cal Surv^ey

Within the Grand Canon 9

Drawn by T. Moran, Engraved by W. J. IjINTON

Head of the Grand Canon of the Colorado 12

Drawn by T. Moran. Engraved by J, A. Bogert

Clbibing in the Grand Canon 13

DrawTi by T. Moran, Engraved by P. Annin

Another View of the Grand Canon 15

Drawn by T, Moran. Engraved by E. Bookhout

Tree-trunk Petrified into an Agate Bridge 23

Drawn by T. Moran. Engraved by T, Schussler

The Great American Desert 29

Drawn by W. C. Fitler. Engraved by E. Heinemann

View Among the Cacti 34

Drawn by W. C. Fitler

Rev. J. W. Brier 39

Drawn by Malcolm Eraser

End-piece 42

Drawn by W, Taber

HuALPi — A MoQUi Village 44

Drawn by W. Taber

The Dance-court and the Dance-rock 47

Drawn by W. Taber

The Moqui Indian Snake-dance 51

Drawn by W. Tabeb

Pueblo Prayer-sticks 62

Drawn by W. Tabeb

Pueblo Hunting Fetiches 65

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Initial 75

Drawn by W. Taber

'^ Suddenly a Blinding Flash of Forked Lightning

Shoots Across the Room" 81

Drawn by W. Tabeb

"The Growing of the Sacred Corn" 87

Drawn by W. Tabeb

Pueblo of Taos 96

Drawn by W. Tabeb

An Ancient Cliff-dwelling 99

Drawn by T. Moban, Engraved by E. Bookhout

Part of Canon de Tsay-ee ^ 101

Drawn by J. A. Fbaseb. Engraved by Peteb Aitken

Cliff-Village on the Mancos 105

Drawn by W. Tabeb

A Night Attack of Apaches upon the Cliff-fortress 106

Drawn by W. Tabeb

Ruined Cave-village, Canon de Tsay-ee 109

Drawn by V. Pebard. Engraved by H. E. Sylvester

The Cueva Pintada, or " Painted Cave " 112

Drawn by W. Tabeb

Mum:my Cave and Village, Canon del Muerto, Arizona 115

Drawn by J. A. Fbaseb. Engraved by H. E. Sylvestee

The White House, Canon de Tsay-ee 119

Drawn by J. A. Fbaseb. Engraved by C. Schwabzbubgeb

Initial 122

Drawn by W. Tabeb

Montezuma's Well 126

Drawn by W. Tabeb

"Montezuma's Castle," seen from Beaver Creek 135

Drawn by W. Taber

''Montezuma's Castle," prom the foot of the Cliff 139

Drawn by W. Taber

Looking Through the South Arch of the Greatest
Natural Bridge 145

Drawn by W. Taber

Rough Ground -plan op Gowan's Valley 149

Drawn by F. E. Sitts

Another View of the Great Bridge 151

Drawn by W. Taber

Natural Bridge near Fort Defiance, New Mexico 157

Drawn by W. Taber

The Eagle Fetich, actual size IGO

Drawn by F. E. Sitts

Some Leaves from the Stone Autograph-Album 162

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 1. Juan de Onate 170

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 2. Diego Martin Barba and Alferes Agostyn 172

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 3. Diego Lucero de Godoy 174

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 4. Juan Gonzales 175

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 5. Ramon Paez Hurtado 175

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 6. Juan Paez Hurtado 176

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 7. Don Francisco Manuel de Silva Nieto 177

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 8. Nieto 178

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

Fig. 9. Lujan 180

Drawn by J. M. Nugent

SOME STEAl^GE COEI^ERS OF
OUE COUIsTTRT.

THE GRANDEST GORGE m THE WORLD.

'E live in the most wonderful of
lands; and one of the most won-
derful things in it is that we as
Americans find so little to won-
der at. Other civilized nations take
pride in knowing then* points of
natural and historic interest ; but
when w^e have pointed to our mar-
velous growth in population and
wealth, we are very largely done,
and hasten abroad in quest of
sights not a tenth part so wonderful as a thousand won-
ders we have at home and never dream of. It is true that
other nations are older, and have growm up to think of
something besides material matters ; but our youth and our
achievements are poor excuse for this unpatriotic slighting

2 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

of our own country. There is a part of America, — a part
even of the United States — of which Americans know as
little as they do of inner Africa, and of which too many of
them are much less interested to learn. With them ''to
travel" means only to go abroad; and they call a man a
traveler who has run his superficial girdle around the world
and is as ignorant of his own country (except its cities) as if
he had never been in it. I hope to hve to see Americans
proud of hiowing America, and ashamed not to know it ; and
it is to my yomig countrymen that I look for the patriotism
to effect so needed a change.

If we would cease to depend so much upon other countries
for our models of life and thought, we would have taken the
first step toward the Americanism which should be, but is
not, ours. We read a vast amount of the wonders of foreign
lands ; but very few wiiters — and still fewer relial)le ones —
tell us of the marvelous secrets of our own. Every intelhgent
youth knows that there are boomerang-throwers in Australia ;
but how many are aware that there are thousands of aborigi-
nes in the United States just as expert with the magic club
as are the Bushmen ?* All have read of the astounding feats
of the jugglers of India ; but how many know that there are
as good Indian jugglers within om' own boundaries? The
curious " Passion Play " at Oberammergau is in the know-
ledge of most young Americans ; but very few of them have
learned the startling fact that every year sees in the United

* The Pueblo Indians, who annually kill countless thousands of rab-
bits with these weapons.

THE GRANDEST GORGE IN THE WORLD. 5

States an infinitely more dramatic Passion Eealiftj, — a flesh
and blood crncifixion, — wherein an ignorant fanatic repre-
sents in fact the death of the Savior. How many young
Americans could say, when some traveler recounted the ex-
ploits of the world-famous snake-charmers of the Orient,
^' Why, yes, we have tribes of Indians in this country whose
trained charmers handle the deadliest snakes with impunity,"
and go on to tell the astonishing facts in the case? How
many know that there are Indians here who dweU in huge
six-story tenements of their own building ? How many know
that the last witch in the United States did not go up in the
cruel smoke of old Salem, but that there is still within our
borders a vast domain wherein witchcraft is as fully believed
in as yesterday is, and where somebody is executed every
year for the strange crime of " being a witch " ?

These are but a few of the strange things at home of
which we know not. There are thousands of others -, and if
it shall ever become as fashionable to ^YYite about America
as it is about Africa, we shall have chance to learn that in
the heart of the most civilized nation on earth are stiU sav-
age peoples, whose customs are stranger and more interest-
ing than those of the Congo.

As to our scenery, we are rather better informed ; and
yet every year thousands of un-American Americans go to
Em-ope to see scenery infinitely inferior to om- own, upon
which they have never looked. We say there are no ruins in
this country, and cross the ocean to admire cnimbling piles
less majestic and less interesting than are in America. We

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THE GRANDEST GORGE IN THE WORLD. 7

read of famous gorges and defiles abroad, and are eager to
see them, unknowing that in a desolate corner of the United
States is the greatest natural wonder of the world — a canon
in which all the world^s famous gorges could be lost forever.
And not one American in ten thousand has ever looked upon
its awful gi^andeiu*.

Of course, we know the Sahara, for that is not American ;
but you will seek far to find any one who is familiar with an
American desert as absolute and as fearful. We are aware
of our giant redwoods in California, — the hugest trees in
the world, — but did you ever hear of a petrified forest cov-
ering thousands of acres ? There is one such in the United
States, and manv smaller ones. Do vou know that in one
territor^^ alone we have the iniins of over fifteen hundred
stone cities as old as Columl)us, and many of them far older ?
Have you ever heard of towns here whose houses are three-
story caves, hewn from the sohd rock ?

It seems to me that when these and so many other won-
ders are a part of America, we, who are Americans, should
be ashamed to know absolutelv nothino- of them. If such
things existed in England or Germany or France, there
woidd be countless books and guides overflowing mth infor-
mation about them, and we would hasten on excursions to
them, or leani all that reading would tell us.

There is no untruer proverb than the one which says, " It
is never too late to learn.'' As we grow old we learn many
things, indeed, and fancy ourselves enormously wise; but
that wisdom is only the skin of life, so to say, and what we

8 SOME STEANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

learn in yonth is the real bone and blood. I would rather
interest one of my young countrjTQen than a thousand of
the unconvertible older ones ; and if I coidd induce him to
resolve that, whatever else he learned, he would learn all he
could of his own country, I should be very happy indeed.
Let me tell you briefly, then, of a few of the strange corners
of oiu' countrv which I have found — sometliine: of the won-
derland of the southwest — which I hoj)e you Tvdll some day
be interested to see for yourselves.

I have spoken of the Grand Canon of the Colorado as a
gorge in which all the famous gorges could be lost. Some of
you have ridden through the " Grand Canon of the Arkan-
saw," on the Denver and Rio Grande Railwav in Colorado, and
still more through the White Mountain Notch and the Fran-
conia Notch in New Hampshire. All three are very beauti-
ful and noble ] but if any one of them were duplicated in
the wall of the Grand Canon of the Colorado, and you were
looking from the opposite brink of that stupendous chasm,
you would have to have your attention called to those
scratches on the other side before you would notice them at
all ! If you were to take the tallest mountain east of the
Rockies, dig down around its base a couple of thousand feet
so as to get to the sea-level (from which its height is mea-
sured), uproot the whole giant mass, and jDitch it into the
deepest of the Grand Canon of the Colorado, its granite top
would not reach up to the dizzy crests of the cliffs which wall
the awful bed of that muddv river. If vou were on the
stream, and New York's noble statue of Liberty Enlighten-

WITHIN THE GRAND CANON.

THE GRANDEST GORGE IN THE WORLD. 11

ing tlie World were upon tlie cliff, it would look to you like
tlie tiniest of dolls ; and if it were across the canon from
you, you would need a strong glass to see it at all !

The Grand Canon lies mostly in Arizona, though it touches
also Utah, Nevada, and California. With its windings and
side-canons of the first magnitude it is nearly seyen hundred
miles long j and in many places it is oyer a mile and a quar-
ter deep ! The width of this unparalleled chasm at the top
is from eight to twenty miles ; and looked down upon from
aboye, a larger riyer than the Hudson (and more than three
times as long) looks like a silver thi'cad. The Yosemite and
the Yellowstone, wonderfid as they are in theu' precipices, —
and the world ciitside of America cannot match those won-
di'ous valleys, — are babies beside tliis peerless gorge.

The walls of the Grand Canon are in most places not per-
pendicular; but seen from in front they all appear to be.
They are mostly of sandstone, but in places of marble, and
again of limestone, and yet again of volcanic rock ; generally
"terraced" in a manner entii^ely peculiar to the southwest,
and cleft into innumerable buttes, which seem towers and
castles, but are infinitely more vast and more noble than the
hand of man wdll ever rear. And when the ineffable sun-
shine of that arid but enchanted land falls upon their won-
di'ous domes and battlements with a glow which seems not
of this world, the sight is such a revelation that I have seen
strong men sit down and weep in speechless awe.

There are no great falls in the Grand Canon ; but many
beautiful and lofty ones in the unnumbered hundreds of side-

HEAD OF THE GRAND CANON OF THE COLORADO.

THE GRANDEST GORGE IN THE WORLD.

canons wliieli en-
ter the gi*eat one.
I litid almost said
" little canons/'
for so they seem
in the presence
of their ^iant
mother ; but in
reality, ahnost
any one of them
vvonld shame any
canon elsewhere.
There is no
such thing as
describing the
Grand Canon,
and I dare not
try. But I shall
borrow a few
words from the
man who has
come nearer giv-
ing' in words a
hint of the canon
than has any one
else — Charles
Dudley Warner.
He has said :
2

CLIMBING IN THE GHAND CANON.

14 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

"This region is probably the most iuterestiug territory of
its size on the globe. At least it is unique. In attempting
to convey an idea of it the writer can be assisted by no
comparison. . . . The Vermilion Cliffs, the Pink Cliffs, the
Wliite Cliffs surpass in fantastic form and brilliant color
anything that the imagination conceives possible in natiu'e j
and there are dreamy landscapes quite beyond the most ex-
quisite fancies of Claude and of Tm-ner. The region is full
of wonders, of beauties, and sublimities that Shelley's im-
aginings do not match in the 'Prometheus Unbound.' . . .
Human experience has no protot^^DC of this region, and the
imagination has never conceived of its forms and colors. It
is impossible to convey an adequate idea of it by jien or
pencil or brush. . . . The whole magnificence broke upon us.
No one could be prepared for it. The scene is one to strike
dumb with awe, or to unstring the nerves. ... It was a
shock so novel that the mind, dazed, quite failed to compre-
hend it. All that we could comprehend was a vast confusion
of amphitheaters and strange architectural forms resplendent
with color. The vastness of the view amazed us quite as
much as its transcendent beauty. . . . We had come into a
new world. . . . This great space is filled with gigantic archi-
tectural constructions, with amphitheaters, gorges, precipices,
walls of masonry, fortresses, temples mountain size, all brill-
iant mth horizontal hues of color — streaks of solid hues a
thousand feet in ^vidth — yellows, mingled white and gray,
orange, dull red, bro^\^i, blue, carmine, green, all blending in
the sunlight into one transcendent effusion of splendor. . . ,

ANOTHER VIEW OF THE GRAND CANON.

THE GRANDEST GORGE IN THE WORLD. 17

The vast abyss has an atmosphere of its owii . . . golden,
rosy, gi'ay, brilliant and somber, and playing a thonsand fan-
tastic tricks to the \4sion. . . . Some one said that all that
was needed to perfect this scene was a Niagara Falls. I
thought what figure a fall 150 feet high and 3000 long would
make in this arena. It would need a spy-glass to discover it.
An adequate Niagara here should be at least three miles in
breadth and fall 2000 feet over one of those waUs. And the
Yosemite — ah ! the lovely Yosemite ! Dumped down into
this wilderness of gorges and mountains, it would take a
guide who knew of its existence a long time to find it. . . .
Those who have long and carefully studied the Grand Canon
of the Colorado do not hesitate for a moment to pronounce
it by far the most subhme of all earthly spectacles."

Very few Americans see the Grand Canon — shamefully
few. Most of it hes in an absolute desert, where are neither
people, food, nor obtainable water — for the river has carved
this indescribable abyss of a trough through a vast flat up-
land, from which in many places a descent to the stream
is impossible ; and yet the canon is easily reached at some
points. The Atlantic and Pacific Railroad comes (at Peach
Springs, Arizona) within twenty -three miles of it, and one
can take a stage to the canon. The stage-road mnds down
to the bottom of the Grand Canon by way of the Diamond
Creek Canon, which is itseK a wonderful chasm.

The point whence Mr. Warner saw the canon was at the
head of the Hance trail, in the Kaibab plateau ; and it is by
far the subHmest part of the cahou that is accessible. It is

18 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

reached by a sixty-seven-mile ride from Flagstaff on tlie At-
lantic and Pacific Railroad. Three hundred and fifty years
ago a poor Spanish lientenant with twenty men penetrated
that fearful wilderness and looked down upon the world's
utmost wonder. And only now, for the first time in its his-
tory, is the Grand Canon easily accessible to the traveler at
its noblest point. A good stage-line has just been started
from Flagstaff, and I went out on the second trip, unwilling
to ad\dse travelers except from personal knowledge. Mr.
Clarke, of St. Nicholas, was with me. The road has been
much improved since Mr. Warner's visit, and is now the best
long mountain-road in the southwest. There are comfort-
able hotels in Flagstaff, the stages are comfortable, the three
relays of horses make the sixty-seven-mile journey easily in
eleven hours, and there is nothing in the trip to deter ladies
or young people. The drive is through the fine pine forests,
with frequent and changing views of the noble San Fran-
cisco peaks and the Painted Desert. It brings one to the veiy
brink of this terrific gorge almost without warning ; and one
looks down suddenly upon all that matchless wonderland.
The canon is here G600 feet deep. One can explore it for
miles along the rim, finding new wonders at eveiy step.
Even if one sits in one spot, one sees a new canon every horn'
— the scene-changers are always shifting that divine stage-
setting. One should not fail to descend the excellent trail
to the river — seven miles — built by that interesting pioneer
John Hance. It gives an altogether new idea of the canon
— and if one stays a month and travels every hour of day-

THE GRANDEST GORGE IN THE WORLD. 19

lig'lit, one does not yet realize the canon. At the end of a
lifetime, it would be more interesting than ever.

The stage journey takes a day each way, and the fare for
the round trip is twenty dollars. One should take as much
time as possible at the canon ; but three days in all (includ-
ing the stage -ride) is better than nothing — indeed, is better
than an\i;hing anywhere else. Good meals and beds are
there at one dollar each. This line can operate only from
May 1st to December 1st, on account of the winter snows
of that 7000-foot plateau; but from Deceml)er to May one
can go in by the Peach Springs route, which reaches the
bottom of the canon, and is more comfortable in winter than
in summer.

II.

A FOREST OF AGATE.

IROM the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad it is still
easier to reach a great natural curiosity — the
huge Petrified Forest of Arizona. Much the
nearest point is the httle station of Billings, but
there are scant accommodations there for the
traveler — only a railroad section-house and a ranch-house.
Only a mile south of the track, at that point, one may see a low,
dark ridge, marked by a single cotton-wood tree. Walking
thither (over a valley so alive with jack-ral)l)its that there is
some excuse for the cow-boy declaration that '' you can walk
clear across on their backs f ") one soon reaches the northern
edge of the forest, which covers hundreds of square miles.
Unless you are more hardened to wonderful sights than I am,
you will almost fancy yourself in some enchanted spot. You
seem to stand on the glass of a gigantic kaleidoscope, over
whose sparkling surface the sun lu'eaks in infinite rainbows.
You are ankle-deep in such chips as I '11 warrant you never
saw from any other woodpile. What do you think of chips
from trees that are red moss-agate, and amethyst, and smoky
topaz, and agate of every hue ? That is exactly the sort of

A FOREST OF AGATE. 21

splinters that cover the ground for niiles here, aronnd the
huge prostrate trunks — some of them five feet through —
from wliieh Time's patient ax has hewn them. I broke a
specimen from the heart of a tree there, years ago, which had,
around the stone pith, a remarkable array of large and ex-
quisite crystals; for on one side of the specimen — which is
not so large as my hand — is a beautiful mass of crystals of
royal purple amethyst, and on the other an equally beautif id
array of smoky topaz crystals. One can also get magnificent
cross-sections of a whole trunk, so tliin as to be portable, and
showing every vein and even the bark. There is not a chip
m all those miles which is not worthy a place, just as it is,
in the proudest cabinet, and when j^ohshed I know no other
rock so splendid. It is one of the hardest stones in the world,
and takes and keeps an incomparable pohsh.

In the cm'ious sandstone hills a mile northeast of BiUings
is an outlying part of the forest, less beautiful but fidly as
strange. There you tviU find giant petrified logs, three and
four feet in diameter, projecting yards from steep bluffs of
a pecuHar bluish clay. Curiously enough, this " wood " is not
agate, nor bright-hued, but a soft combination of browns
and grays, and absolutely opaque — whereas aU the '^wood"
across the valley is translucent and some of it quite trans-
parent. It also '' splits up " in an entirely different fashion.
But if these half -hidden logs in the bluffs are less attractive
to the eye, they are quite as interesting, for they tell even
more clearly of the far, forgotten days when all this great
upland (now five thousand feet above the sea) sank with aU

22 SOME STEANGE €ORNEES OF OUR COUNTRY.

its forests, and lay for centuries in water strongly charged
with, mineral, which tiu'ned the undecaying trees to eternal
stone. These latter trunks project about a third of the way
up a bluff over one hundi^ed feet liigh. They are packed in a
twenty-foot deposit of fine clay ; and above them since the
waters buried them there has formed a stratum of sohd sand-
stone more than thirty feet thick! That shows what un-
counted millenniums they have been there. The erosion
which has carved the bluffs out of the general table-land,
and thus at last exposed the ends of these stone logs, was of
comparatively recent date. There is no knowing how much
more earth and stone lay once above the logs, when erosion
fii'st began to change the face of the whole country. Other
logs are solidly imbedded in the rock chff itself.

The most convenient way of reaching the Petrified Forest
— and the most impressive part of it — is by a fifteen-mile
di'ive from Holbrook station. In Chalcedony Park, as this
part of the forest is called, is the largest number of huge pet-
rified trees to be found in any one place in the world. One
of them spans a deep arroyo forty feet wide, forming prob-
ably the only bridge of solid agate on tliis globe. The inev-
itable vandal has blown up a few of these superb stone logs
with giant-powder, to get some specimens for his contempt-
ible pocket; but there are thousands still spared, and the
forest is now so guarded that a repetition of these outrages
is not probable. In Tiffany's jewelry store, New York, you
can see some magnificent specimens of polished cross-sections
from these logs, which command enormous prices. The man

TKEE-TRUNK PETKIFIED INTO AN AGATE BRIDGE.

A FOREST OF AGATE. 25

in Sioux Falls who superintended tlie sawing of them told
me that a steel saw, six inches wide and aided by diamond-
dust, was worn down to a half-inch ribbon in going through
thirty-six inches of that adamantine '^wood" — a process
which lasted many days.

This petrified forest was a very important thing in the
economy of the brown fii'st Americans — long centuries before
Europe di*eamed of a New World. Its beautiful '^woods''
traveled all over the gi'eat southwest, and sometimes far out
into the plains. Not that the Indians used it for jewelry
as we are now doing ; but they made of it articles far more
valuable than the little charms into which it is nowadays
polished by the thousands of dollars' worth annually. Some
of this agate was the very best material possible for their
arrow-heads, spear-heads, knives, scrapers, and other material 5
and they seem to have preferred it to the commoner volcanic
glass. Many hundreds of miles from the Petrified Forest I
have picked up these stone implements which were unmis-
takably made from its ''wood." I have hundreds of beautiful
arrow-i3oints, and many spear-heads of all sorts of agate,
and several scalping-knives of lovely moss agate, all of Avhich
came from there originally, though all found at long dis-
tances away. The Indians used to make excursions thither
to get these prized chips ; and evidently traded them to very
distant tribes.

In the extreme eastern edge of Arizona, some forty miles
southeast of the Petrified Forest, and about forty miles south-
west of the remote and interesting Indian pueblo of Zuhi,
3

26 SOME STRANGE CORXERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

N. M., is a strange natural phenomenon — a great, shallow salt
lake, at the bottom of a bowl-like depression some hnndi'eds
of feet deep and about tlu*ee miles across. The basin is daz-
zUng white vdih a crust of salt crystals. About in the center
rises a small black volcanic peak ; and if you will take the
trouble to ford the salt lake — which is disagi'eeable but not
dangerous to do — and climl) the peak, you will find its crater
half -filled with a lakelet of pure, fresh water ! There are very
manv of these salt lakes in the southwest, and from them the
Indians from time immemorial have procm'ed their salt — and
so did the Mexican colonists until ^Wthin ten vears. There
is also a large river of salt water — the Salt River, in south-
western Ai'izona.

A very cui-ious and disagreeable freak of natiu-e found in
some parts of the southwest is that treacherous pitfall known
as the sumidcro. These ugly traps are quite numerous in
some vallevs — particularlv in the vicinitv of San Mateo,
N. M. There is no danger-signal to show their whereabouts ;
and the fii'st warning one has of a sumidero is apt to be too
late. These characteristic pits are a sort of mud springs
wdth too much mud to flow, and too much water to diy up.
They are roundish, about the size of a well-hole, and some-
times as deep — in fact, they are what we might call masked
wells. There are quicksands at various j^oints in nearly every
stream of the southwest; but even these, frequently fatal as
the}^ are, are not nearly so dangerous as the sumideros. In
fording a southwestern stream one expects, and is prepared
for, quicksands. But there is no looking out for a sumidero.

A FOEEST OF AGATE. 27

These masked Avells oceui* in bare, alkali-covered flats. Tlie
mud uj)oii theii' siu'face is baked diy, and there is absolutely
nothing to distinguish them from the safe ground around.
But man or horse or sheep or cow that once steps upon that
treacherous surface slumps from sight in an instant. Many
animals and some people perish in these sumideros^ and the
bodies are hardly ever recovered. The longest pole will not
find bottom to one of these mud springs. A Mexican friend
of mine is one of the few who ever got into a sinnUlero and
got out again. He was loping across the diy plain when
suddenly the horse disappeared in a gi'eat splash of mud.
The rider was thrown from the saddle, and clutched the
edges of the pit so that he was able to draw himself out.

Tlie pueblo of Zufii itself is well worthy of a visit. It has
an important history, as you Tvill see in the chapter on the
Stone Autograph Album ; and its architecture, its people,
and its customs are fidl of keen interest to every intelligent
American. Among the least of its curiosities are several
blonde Indians as genuine albinos as white rabbits are. They
are pure-blooded Indians, but their skins are very light, their
hair almost tow-color, and their eyes red. The people of
Zuui also make the handsomest pottery of all the Pueblos j
and some of their large old water-jars, painted with strange
figures of Q\k and other animals, are really valuable. The
best way to get to Zuhi is from the station of Gallup, where
carriages and di-ivers can be procured. The road is too easily
lost for the stranger to undertake it alone ; but the tireless
horses of the countiy cover the lonely miles in a few hom-s.

III.

THE A:\rERICAX SAIL\.RA.

!HE Great American Desert was almost better
kuowu a generation ago tlian it is to-day. Then
thousands of the hardy Argonauts had tra-
versed that fearful Avastt^ on foot with theu'
dawdhng ox-teams, and hundreds of them had left their
bones to bleach in that thu'stv land. The survivors of those
deadly jonrneys had a very definite idea of what that desert
was ; but now that avi^ can roll across it in a day in Pull-
man palace-cars, its real — and still existing — horrors are
largely forgotten. I have walked its hideous length alone
and wounded, and realize something more of it from that
than a gi'eat many i-ailroad joiu-neys across it since have told
me. Now every transcontinental railroad crosses the gi'eat
desert whose vast, arid waste stretches up and down the con-
tinent, west of the Rocky Mountains, for nearly two thousand
miles. The northern routes cut its least gruesome parts j
but the two which traverse its southern half — the Atlantic
and Pacific Railroad and the Southern Pacific Raih'oad —
pierce some of its grimmest recesses.

The first scientific exploration of this deadly area was Lieu-
tenant Wheeler's United States survey in the early fifties ; and

.J ' (

mm<n '■?^'::

M
(0

-a

50
O

K
O

o
o

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THE AMERICAN SAHARA. 31

he was fii'st to give scientific assurance that we have here a
desert as absolute as the Sahara. If its parched sands could
speak then* record^ what a story they might tell of unearth-
ly sufferings and raving death ; of slow-plodding caravans,
whose patient oxen lifted their feet ceaselessly from the blis-
tering gravel and bawled with agony ; of dra^\ni human faces
that peered hungrily at yon lying image of a placid lake, and
toiled frantically on to sink at last, hopeless and strengthless,
in the hot dust wl^cli the mirage had painted with the hues
and the very waves of water ; and whose were the ghastly
rehcs that whiten there to-da}', uncrumbled after a generation
of exposiu'C to the dryest air on the globe !

No one will ever know how many have laid theii' gaunt '
forms to the long sleej) in that inhospitable land; l)ut the
numl)er runs up into the thousands. Not a year passes, even
now, without record of many deaths upon that desert, and
of many more who wander back, crazed mth the dehrium of
thirst, and are taken to a kindher clime only to die there.
Even people at the railroad stations sometimes rove off,
lured by the strange fascination of the desert, and never
come back; and of the adventurous miners who seek to
probe the golden secrets of those l)arren and strange-hued
ranges, there are countless victims.

A desert is not necessarily an endless, level waste of burn-
ing sand ; and the Great American Desert is far from it. It
is full of strange, burnt, ragged mountain ranges, with de-
ceptive, sloping broad valleys between — though as we near
its southern end the mountains become somewhat less nu-

32 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

meroiis, and the sandy wastes more prominent. There are
countless extinct volcanoes upon it, and hundi'eds of square
miles of black, bristling lava-flows. A majority of it is
sparsely clothed with the hardy greasewood ; but in places
not a plant of any sort breaks the sm'face, far as the eye can
reach. The summer heat is inconceivable, often reaching
130^ in the shade ; and a piece of metal which has lain in
the sun can no more be handled than coidd a red-hot stove.
Even in winter the midday heat is sometimes insufferable,
while at night ice frequently forms on the water-tanks. The
daily range of temperatm-e there is said to be the greatest
ever recorded anywhere ; and a change of 80° in a few hours
is not rare. Such violent variations are extremely trying to
the human system 5 and among the few people who live on
the edges of tlie hottest of lands, pneumonia is the commonest
of diseases ! The scattered telegi^aph-offices along the rail-
road are all built with two roofs, a couple of feet apart, that
the free passage of aii* may partially counteract the fearful
down-beating of the sun. There are oases in the desert, too,
chief of which are the narrow valleys of the Mojave River
and the lower Colorado. It is a strange thing to see that
soft green ribbon athwart the molten landscape — between
lines as sharp-drawn as a fence, on one side of which all is
verdant life, and on the other, but a foot away, all death and
desolation.

The contorted ranges, which seem to have been dropped
down upon the waste, rather than upheaved from it, are very
rich in gold and silver, — a fact which has liu'ed countless

THE AMERICAN SAHARA. 33

victims to death. Their strange colors have given an appro-
priate name to one of the hirgest silver-producing districts
in the United States — that of Calico. The curiously blended
browns and reds of these igneous rocks do make them
strongly resemble the antiquated calicoes of our grand-
mothers.

As would be inferred from its temperatiu'e, the desert is a
land of f earfid winds. When that stupendous volume of hot
air rises by its ow^n lightness — as hot air always must rise, a
principle wiiich was the foundation of ballooning — other air
from the surrounding world must rush in to take its place ;
and as the new ocean of atmosphere, greater than the Medi-
terranean, pours in in stupendous waves to its desert bed,
such winds result as few in fertile lands ever dreamed of.
The Arabian simoom is not deadlier than the sand-storm of
the Colorado Desert (as the lower half is generally called).
Express-trains cannot make head against it — nay, they are
even sometimes forced from the track ! Upon the crests of
some of the ranges are hundreds of acres bm-ied deep in the
fine, white sand that those fearf id gales pluck up by car-loads
from the plain and lift on high to fling u]3on the scowling
peaks thousands of feet above. There are no snow-drifts to
blockade trains there ; but it is sometimes necessary to shovel
through more troublesome drifts of sand. Man or beast
caught in one of those sand-laden tempests has little chance
of escape. The man who will lie with his head tightly
wrapped in coat or blanket and stifle there until the fury of
the storm is spent may survive ; Init woe to the poor brute

SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

whose swift feet cannot bear it betimes to a place of refuge.
There is no facing or breathing that atmosphere of alkaline
sandj whose lightest whiff inflames eyes, nose, and throat
almost past endm^ance. The sand-storm suffocates its vic-

VIEVV AMONG THE CACTI.

tims and biuies them — perhaps to uncover them again only
after the lapse of years.

The few rivers of the American Desert are as strange and
as treacherous as its winds. The Colorado is the only large
stream of them all, and the only one which behaves hke an
ordinary river. It is always turbid — and gets its Spanish

THE AMERICAN SAHARA. 35

name, which means " the Red/' from the color of its tide.
The smaller streams are almost invariably clear in dry
weather j bnt in a time of rain they become torrents not so
much of sandy water as of Uqnid sand ! I have seen them
rolling down in freshets with foui'-f oot waves which seemed
simply sand in flow 5 and it is a fact that the bodies of those
who are di'owned at such times are abnost never recovered.
The strange river buries them forever in its own sands. All
these rivers have heads ; but hardlv one of them has a mouth !
They rise in the mountains on the edge of some happier land,
flow away out into the desert, making a green gladness
where their waters touch, and soon are swallowed up forever
by the thh'sty sands. The Mojave, for instance, is a beauti-
ful little stream, clear as crystal through the summer, only a
foot or so in depth, but a couple of hundred feet wide. It is
fifty or sixty miles long, and its upper valley is a narrow
paradise, gi*een mth tall grasses and noble cotton- woods that
recall the stately elms of the Connecticut Valley. But lower
down the grass gives place to barren sand-banks • the hard-
ier trees, whose roots bore deep to drink, grow small and
stragghng ; and at last it dies altogether upon the arid plain,
and leaves bevond a desert as utter as that which crowds its
whole bright oasis-ribbon on either side but cannot encroach
thereon.

It is a very curious fact that this American Sahara, over
fifteen hundred miles long from north to south, and nearly
half as wide, serves to trip the very seasons. On its one side
the rains all come in the summer; but on the Pacific side

36 SOME STRANGE CORNEES OF OUR COUNTRY.

they are invariably in the winter, and a shower between
March and October is almost as unheard of as the prover-
bial thunder from a cloudless sky.

In the southern portions of the desert are many strange
freaks of vegetable life — huge cacti sixty feet tall, and as
large around as a barrel, with singular arms which make
them look like gigantic candelabra ; smaller but equally fan-
tastic varieties of cactus, from the tall, lithe ocaliJJa, or Avhip-
stock cactus, down to the tiny knob smaller than a china cup,
whose innocent-looking needles give it a roseate halo. The
blossoms of these strange vegetable pin-cushions (whose pins
all have their points outward) are invariably brilliant and
beautiful. There are countless more modest flowers, too, in
the rainy season, and thousands of square miles are carpeted
thick with a floral carpet which makes it hard for the trav-
eler to believe that he is really gazing upon a desert. There
are even date-palms, those quaint ragged children of the trop-
ics ; and they have very appropriate conq)an v. Few people
are aware that there are wild camels in North America, but
it is none the less true. Many years ago a number of these
" ships of the desert " were imported from Africa by an en-
terprising Yankee who purposed to use them in freighting
across the American Sahara. The scheme failed ; the camels
escaped to the desert, made themselves at home, and there
they roam to-day, wild as deer but apparently prospering,
and now and then frightening the wits nearly out of some
ignorant prospector who strays into their grim domain.

There are in this desert weird and deadlv vallevs wliich

THE AMERICAN SAHARA. 37

are hundreds of feet below the level of the sea ; vast depos-
its of piu'e salt, borax, soda, and other minerals ; remark-
able " mud- volcanoes/' or geysers j wonderful mirages and
supernatural atmospheric effects, and many other wonders.
The intensely dry au' is so clear that distance seems annihi-
lated, and the eye loses its reckoning. Objects twenty miles
away look to be within an easy half-lioiu*'s walk. Tliere are
countless dry beds of prehistoric and accursed lakes — some
of them of great extent — in whose alkaline dust no plant
can gTOw, and upon which a puddle of rain-water becomes
an ahnost deadly poison. In the mountain-passes are trails
where the pattering feet of mangy and starveling coyotes for
thousands of years have worn a path six inches deep in the
solid limestone. Gaunt ravens sail staring over the wan
plains ; and hairy tarantulas hop ; and tlie side-winder — the
deadly, horned rattlesnake of the desert, which gets its nick-
name from its peculiar sideling motion — crawls across the
burning sands, or basks in the terrific sun which only he and
the lizards, of all created things, can enjoy.

The '^ Salton Sea," about which so much undeserved sensa-
tion and mystery were made recently, is not a sea at all, but
a huge puddle of '^ back water" from the Colorado River. It
had been diy for a great while ; but the river in 1891, in a
freshet, broke its banks and again filled the shallow basin.
Tlie water is brackish because the overflowed valley contains
great salt deposits.

The most fatally famous part of the Great American
Desert is Death VaUey, in California. There is on all the

38 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

globe no other spot so forbidding, so desolate, so deadly. It
is a concentration of the hideonsness of that whole hideous
area ; and it has a bitter history.

One of the most interesting and graphic stories I ever
listened to was that related to me, several years ago, l)y one
of the sni"\dvors of the famous Death Valley party of 1849
— Rev. J. W. Brier, an aged Methodist clergyman now li\'ing
in California, who preached the first Protestant sermon in
Los Angeles. A party of five hundred emigrants started
on the last day of September, 1849, from the southern end
of Utah to cross the desert to the new mines of California.
There were one hundi^ed and five canvas-topped wagons,
dra^NTi by sturdy oxen, beside which trudged the shaggy men,
rifle in hand, while under the canvas awnings rode the women
and children. In a short time there was division of opinion
as to the proper route across that pathless w^aste in front ;
and next day five wagons and their people went east to reach
Santa Fe (whence there Avere dim Mexican trails to Los An-
geles), and the rest plunged boldly into the desert. The party
which went via Santa Fe reached California in December,
after vast sufferings. The larger company traveled in com-
fort for a few davs until thev reached about where Pioche
now is. Then thev entered the Land of Thu'st: and for
more than three months wandered lost in that inconceivable
realm of horror. It was almost impossible to get wagons
thi'ough a country f mTOwed with canons 5 and presently they
abandoned then- vehicles, packing wdiat they could upon the
backs of the oxen. They struggled on to ghttering lakes,

THE AMERICAN SAHARA.

only to find them deadly poison, or but a mirage on barren
sands. Now and then a wee spring in the mountains gave
them new life. One by one the oxen dropped, day by day
the scanty flour ran lower. Nim? 3'oung men, who separated
from the rest, being stalwart and unencumbered with fami-

REV. J. W. BRIER.

lies, strayed into Death Valley ahead of the others, succmnbed
to its deadly thirst, and, crawhng into a httle volcanic bowl
to escape the cold winds of night, left their cuddled bones
there — where they were found many years later by Gov-

40 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

ernor Blaisdell aud liis siu'veyors, who gave Deatli Yalley its
name. The valley lies iu Inyo County, and is abont one
hundi^ed and fifty miles long. In mdth it tapers from three
miles at its southern end to tliu'tv at the northern. It is
over two hundred feet below the sea-level. Most of Inyo
County is a great plateau, averaging 5000 feet in altitude ;
and in it, in the south end of the Sierra Nevada range, tow-
ers the loftiest peak in the United States — Mount WTiitney,
15,000 feet. So, as you may imagine, there is a terril)le
^^ jumping-off -place " when one comes to the brink of this
accursed valley. From 5000 feet above sea-level to 200 feet
helow it is a good deal of a drop ; and in places it fairly looks
as if one might take it at a single jump. The valley is walled
on each side by savage and appalling cliffs which rise thou-
sands of feet in apparently sheer walls. There are but few
places where the valley can well be crossed from side to side ;
for by the time one has tiiidged over those miles of alkah
one is generally too far gone to climb up the farther rocks
to safety. It is the very last place. There is notliing so
deadly even in the hottest parts of Africa. Not even a bu'd
flies across that liideous waste — nature is absolutely lifeless
there. It is the dryest place in the world — the place where one
will soonest die of thii'st, and where the \T.ctim soon becomes
a perfect mummy. "W^ien the melting snows of the Sierra
Nevada come roaring down the slopes in gi'eat torrents, they
do not reach the bottom of Death Valley. Long before the
stream can get there it is swallowed up into the thirsty air
and thii'stier sands. The main party of pioneers crossed

THE AMERICAN SAHARA. 41

Death Valley at about tlie middle, where it is but a few miles
mde, but suffered frightfully tliere. With every day their
tortures grew worse. The gaunt oxen were so nearly dead
that their meat was rank poison; and at last the starving
band had no food for foiu' weeks save ox-hide scorched and
then boiled to a bitter jelly. Day by day some of their num-
ber sank upon the burning sands, never to rise again. The
skeleton survivors were too weak to help the fallen. One
poor fellow named Isham revived enough to crawl four awful
miles on his hands and knees in piu'suit of his companions,
and then died.

The strongest of the whole party was wee, nervous Mrs.
Brier, who had come to Colorado an invalid, and who shared
with her boys of four, seven, and nine years that indescriba-
ble tramp of nine hundi'ed miles. For the last three wrecks
she had to lift her athletic husband from the ground every
morning, and steady him a few moments before he could
stand; and help wasted giants who a few months before
could have held her upon their palms.

At last the few dying survivors crossed the range which
shuts off that most dreadful of deserts from the garden of the
world, and were tenderly nursed to health at the hacienda of
a courtly Spaniard. Mr. Brier had wasted from one hundred
and seventy-five pounds to seventy-five, and the others in
proportion. When I saw him last he was a hale old man of
seventy- five, cheerful and active, but with strange furrows in
his face to tell of those by-gone sufferings. His heroic little
wife was still living, and the boys, who had had a bitter ex-

SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

perience such as perhaps no other boys ever siu*\dved, are
stalwart men.

The Great American Desert reaches from Idaho to the
Gulf of California and do^Ti into Mexico ; and embraces
portions of Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, Ai^izona, and
California. There have been numerous schemes to reclaim
parts of it — even to turning the Colorado River into its
southern liasins — but all the ingenuity of man will never
change most of it from the ii-redeemable and fearful wil-
derness it is to-day.

_^r..

THE RATTLESNAKE DANCE.

N and about the edges of the Great American
Desert are many of the strangest corners. It
seems as if Nature has crowded her curiosities
into that strangest and most forbidding of mu-
seums, that they may not be too easily found.
A hundred miles north of the Petrified Forest, and well
into the edge of the Arizona desert, are the seven strange
and seldom visited Pueblo cities of Moqui. They all have
wildly unpronounceable names : Hualpi, Si-chom-ivi, Shim-
o-pavi, Shi-paui-luvi, Orail^e, and Mishongop-a\i -, and all are
built on the summits of almost inaccessible mesas — islands
of solid rock, whose generally perpendicular cliff-waUs rise
high from the smTounding plain. They are very remarka-
ble towns in appearance, set upon dizzy sites, with cpiaint
terraced houses of abode, and cpieer little corrals for the ani-
mals in nooks and angles of the cliff, and giving far outlook
across the browns and yellows, and the spectral peaks of that
weird plain. But they look not half so remarkal}le as they
are. The most remote from civilization of all the Pueblos,
the least affected by the Spanish influence which so wonder-

o
<

THE EATTLESNxVKE DANCE. 45

fully rilled over the enormous area of tlie southwest, and
practically untouched by the later Saxon influence, the In-
dians of the Moqiii towns retain almost entu'ely their w^onder-
fiil customs of before the conquest. They number eighteen
hundred souls. Their languages are different from those of
any other of the Pueblos ;* and their mode of life — though to
a hasty glance the same — is in many ways unlike that of
theii" brethren in New Mexico. They are the best weavers
in America, exce2:)t the once remarkable but now less skilful
Nayajos; and their manias (the characteristic black woolen
dresses of Pueblo women) and dancing-girdles are so famous
that the Indians of the Rio Grande vaUey often travel three
hundi'ed miles or more, on foot or on deliberate burros,
simply to trade for the long-wearing products of the rude,
home-made looms of Moqui. The Moquis also make valu-
able and very cimous fur blankets by twisting the skins of
rabbits into ropes, and then sewing these together — a cus-
tom which Coronado found among them three hundi'ed and
fifty years ago, before there were any sheep to yield wool for
such fabrics as they now weave, and when their only dress
materials w^ere skins and the cotton they raised.

It is in these strange, chff-j^erched little cities of the Hupi
('•^the people of peace," as the Moquis call themselves) that
one of the most astounding barbaric dances in the world is
held ; for it even yet exists. Africa has no savages whose

* Except that the one Moqui village of Tehua speaks the language of
the Tehuas on the Rio Grande, whence its people came as refugees
after the great Pueblo Rebellion of 1680.

46 SOME STEANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

mystic performances are more wonderful than the Moqni
snake-dance — and as much may be said for many of the
other secret rites of the Pueblos.

The snake is an object of great respect among all nnci\41-
ized peojDles ; and the deadlier his power^ the deeper the rev-
erence for him. The Pueblos often protect in tlieu' houses
an esteemed and harmless serpent — about five or six feet
long — as a mouse- trap j and these quiet mousers keep down
the little pests much more effectively than a cat, for they can
follow sJiee-id-deh to the ultimate corner of his hole.

But while all snakes are to be treated well, the Pueblo
holds the rattlesnake actually sacred. It is, except the lyichu-
ciidfe (a real asp), the only venomous reptile in the southwest,
and the only one dignified by a place among the ^' Trues."
The ch'ah-rah-rdh-deh * is not really worshiped by the Pueblos,
but thev beUeve it one of the sacred animals which are use-
f ul to the Trues, and ascribe to it wonderful powers. Up to
a generation ago it played in the marvelous and difficult su-
perstitions of this people a much more important part than
it does now ; and every Pueblo town used to maintain a huge
rattlesnake, which was kept in a sacred room, and with great
solemnity fed once a year. My own pueblo of Isleta used to
support a sacred rattler in the volcanic caves of the Cerro
del Au'e,t l)ut it esca2)ed five years ago, and the patient
search of the officials failed to recover it. Verv truthful old

* The Tee-wahn name is imitative, resembling tlie rattling. The
Moquis call the rattlesnake chii-ah.
t Hill of the wind.

48 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

men here have told me that it was nearly as large around as
my body ; and I can believe it with just a little allowance, for
I myself have seen one here as lai*ge as the tliickest part of
my leg.

There are many gruesome stories of human sacrifices to
these snakes, the commonest tale being that a baby was
chosen by lot from the pueblo once a year to be fed to ch\ih-
rali-rdli-deli. But this is of coui-se a foolish fable. There are
no traces that the Pueblos ever practised human sacrifice in
any shape, even in j^rehistoric times; and the very gi*and-
father of all the rattlesnakes coidd no more swallow the
smallest baby than he could fly.

This snake-tending has died out in nearly — and now, per-
haps, in quite — all the New Mexican pueblos; but the cm*i-
ous trait still sur\dves in the towns of Moqui. Every second
year, when the August moon reaches a certain stage (in 1891
it occm'red on the 21st), the wonderful ceremony of the snake-
dance is performed ; and the white men who have witnessed
these weu'd rites will never forget them.

For sixteen days beforehand the professional ^' Snake-men "
have been in solemn preparation for the great event, sit-
ting in their sacred rooms, which are carved in the solid
rock. For many days before the dance (as before nearly
all such ceremonies Avith the Pueblos) no food must pass
their hps, and they can drink only al.)itter ''tea," called mdli-
qne-he, made from a secret herb wliicli gives them security
against snake-poison. They also rub their bodies Avith pre-
pared herbs.

THE RATTLESNAKE DANCE. 49

Six days before the date of the dance the Snake-men go
down the mesa into the plain and hunt eastward for rattle-
snakes. Upon finding one, the hunter tickles the angry rep-
tile with the " snake- whip " — a sacred bimch of eagle feathers
— until it tries to run. Then he snatches it up and puts it
into a bag. On the next day the hunt is to the north ; the
thu'd day to the west j the foiu'th day to the south — which is,
you must know, the only possible order in which a Pueblo
dares to " box the compass." To start fii-st south or north
would be a dreadful impiety in his eyes. The captiu'ed
snakes are then kept in the kibva (sacred room called ^' estufa"
in the other pueblos), where they crawl about in dangerous
freedom among the solemn deliberators. The night before
the dance the snakes are all cleansed with gi'eat solemnity at
an altar which the Snake-captain has made of colored sands
drawn in a strange design.

The place where the dance is held is a small open court,
with the three-story houses crowding it on the west, and the
brink of the cliff l)ounding it on the east. Several sacred
rooms, hollowed from the rock, are along this court, and the
tall ladders which lead into them are visible in the picture.
At the south end of the court stands the sacred Dance-rock
— a natural pillar, about fourteen feet high, left by water-
w^earing upon the rock floor of the mesa's top. Midway from
this to the north end of the court has been constructed the
Icee-si, or sacred booth of cotton- wood branches, its opening
closed by a cui'tain. Just in front of this a shallow cavity
has been dug, and then covered with a strong and ancient
5

50 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

plank with a hole in one side. This covered cavity repre-
sents Shi-jxi-jiu, the gi^at Black Lake of Tears, — a name so
sacred that few Indians will speak it alond, — wiience, accord-
ing to the common belief of all southwestern Indians, the
human race first came.

On the day of the dance the Captain of the Snake-men
places all the snakes in a large buckskin bag, and deposits
this in the booth. All the other active participants are still
in their room, going through their mysterious preparations.
Just before sunset is the invariable time for the dance.

Long before the hour, the housetops and the edges of the
court are lined with an expectant throng of spectators : the
earnest Moquis, a goodly representation of the Navajos, whose
reservation hes just east, and a few" white men. At about
half -past five in the afternoon the twenty men of the Ante-
lope Order emerge from theu' own special room in single file,
march tlu'ice around the court, and go through certain sa^
cred ceremonies in front of the booth. Here their captain
sprinkles them with a consecrated fluid from the tip of an
eagle feather. For a few moments they dance and shake
their guajes (ceremonial rattles made of goui'ds) in front of
the booth ; and then they are ranged beside it, mth their
backs against the w^all of the houses. Among them are the
youngsters that day admitted to the order in which thej will
thenceforward receive life-long training — dimpled tots of
from four to seven years old, wdio look extremely " cunning "
in their strange regimentals.

Now all is ready ; and in a moment a buzz in the crowd

s
PI

>
z

t/)

M
I

c
>
z
n
n

THE RATTLESNAKE DANCE. 53

announces tlie coming- of tlie seventeen priests of the Snake
Order thi'ongli the roofed alley jnst south of the Dance-rock.
These seventeen enter the court in a single file at a rapid
gait, and make the circuit of the conrt four times, stamping
hard with the right foot upon the sacred plank that covers
Shi-pa-pii as they pass in front of the booth. This is to let
the CacMnas (spirits, or divinities) know that the dancers are
now presenting their prayers.

When the captain of the Snake Order reaches the booth,
on the fourth cu^cuit, the procession halts. The captain
kneels in front of the booth, thrusts his right arm behind the
curtain, unties the sack, and in a moment draws out a big,
squirming rattlesnake. This he holds mth his teeth about
six inches back of the ugly triangular head, and then he rises
erect. The Captain of the Antelope Order steps forward and
puts liis left arm around the Snake-captain's neck, while with
the snake- whip in his right hand he ^' smooths " the ^\Tithing
reptile. The two start forward in the peculiar hippety-hop,
hop, hippety-hop of all Pueblo dances ; the next Snake-priest
draws forth a snake from the booth, and is joined l^y the
next Antelope-man as partner ; and so on, until each of the
Snake-men is dancing with a deadly snake in his mouth, and
an Antelope-man accompanying him.

The dancers hop in pairs thus from the booth to the Dance-
rock, thence north, and circle toward the booth again.
When they reach a certain point, which completes about
three-quarters of the circle, each Snake-man gives his head a
sharp snap to the left, and thereby throws his snake to the

54 SOME STKANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

rock floor of the court, inside the ring of dancers, and dances
on to the booth again, to extract a fresh snake and make
another round.

There are three more Antelope-men than Snake-men, and
these three have no partners in the dance, but are intrusted
with the duty of gathering up the snakes thus set free and
putting them back into the booth. The snakes sometimes
run to the crowd — a ticklish affah' for those jammed upon
the very brink of the precipice. In case they run, the three
official gatherers snatch them up without ado; but if they
coil and show fight, these Antelope-men tickle them with the
snake-whips until they uncoil and try to glide away, and then
seize them with the rapidity of lightning. Frequently these
gatherers have five or six snakes in their hands at once.
The reptiles are as deadly as ever — not one has had its
fangs extracted !

In the 1891 dance over one hundred snakes were used.
Of these about sixty-five were rattlesnakes. I stood within
six feet of the circle ; and one man (a dancer) who came
close to me was bitten. The snake which he held in his
mouth suddenly turned and struck him upon the right cheek.
His Antelope companion unJiool'ed the snake, which hung by
its recurving fangs, and threw it upon the ground ; and the
pair continued the dance as if nothing had happened ! An-
other man a little farther from me, but plainly seen, was bit-
ten on the hand.

I never knew one of them to be seriously affected by a
rattlesnake's bite. They pay no attention to the (to others)

THE EATTLESXAKE DANCE. 55

deadly stroke of that hideous month, which opens flat as a
pahn and smites exactly like one, bnt dance and sing in ear-
nest nnconcern. There is in existence one photogTaph which
clearly shows the dancers with the snakes in then* months —
and onty one. Beginning so late, and in the deep shadow
of the tall honses, it is almost imx)0ssible for the dance to be
photographed at all ; bnt one year a Incky reflector of dense
white clond came np just before sunset and threw a light into
that dark corner, aiul Mr. Wittick got the only perfect pic-
tm'e extant of the snake-dance. I have made pictures which
do show the snakes ; but they are not handsome pictures of
the dance. The make-up of the dancers makes photography
still harder. Their faces are painted black to the mouth, and
white from that to the neck. Theii* bodies, naked to the
waist, are painted a dark lake-red. They wear curious danc-
ing-skirts to the knee, with beautiful fox-skins dangling be-
hind, but nothing on theu" legs except rattles and sacred
tmgs at the ankle.

At last all rush together at the foot of the Dance-rock and
throw all their snakes into a horrid heap of threatening heads
and buzzing tails. I have seen that hillock of rattlesnakes a
foot high and four feet across. For a moment the dancers
leap about the T^Tithing pile, w^hile the sacred corn-meal is
sprinkled. Then they thrust each an arm into that squirming
mass, grasp a number of snakes, and go running at top
speed to the four points of the compass. Reaching the bot-
tom of the gTeat mesa (Hualpi,* where the chief snake-dance

* Pronounced TVol-pi.

56 SOJME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

is held, is six hiindi-ed and sixty feet above the plain), they
release the unharmed serpents.

These astounding rites last from half an hour to an hour,
and end only when the hot sun has fallen behind the bald
western desert. Then the dancers go to their sacred purifi-
cation mth the secret herb, and the awed on-lookers scatter
to theii' quaint homes, rejoicing at the successful conclusion
of the most important of all the public ceremonials of Moqui.
It is believed by the Hiipi that the rattlesnake was one of
theh' fii'st ancestors — the son of the Moqui Adam and Eve —
and they have a very long and comphcated folk-story about
it. The snake-dance is therefore — among other superstitious
aims — designed to please theu' divinities.

In the '^neck" or "saddle" which connects the first of the
Moqui " islands " of rock ^\dth the main table-land is a shrine
of gi'eat importance. It is a little inclosure of slabs of stone
suri'ounding a large stone fetich which has been carved into
a conventional representation of the sacred snake. In two
small natm-al cavities of the Dance-rock are also kept other
large fetiches — both the latter being limestone concretions
of peculiar shape.

This snake-dance seems to have been common to all the
Pueblo towns in ancient times. Espejo saw it in Acoma in
1581 ; and there are to this day in other towns customs which
seem to be survivals of this strange ceremony. In Isleta
there are still men who have " power of snakes," and know
how to charm them by putting the sacred corn-meal and corn-
poUen on their heads — a practice which figm*es extensively
in their folk-lore.

THE KATTLESNAKE DANCE. 57

The Moquis make great numbers of I'emarkable-looking
dolls for tlieii' cliildreu to play with ; aud iu nearly every
house some of these strange effigies are to be seen. They
are toys for the youngsters, but not merehj toys — they are
also a sort of kindergarten course. They are called cackinas,
and are supposed to represent the spirits in which the Mo-
(jueuos believe. They are very clever representations of the
outlandish figures of the masked men who take part in many
ceremonial dances — these maskers, of coiu'se, being also sup-
posed to look like the unseen but potent spirits. So a Moqui
child very soon learns what the various spirits look like.

One of the oddities which a stranger will first notice in
Moqui is the fashion in which the women dress theii* hair.
The young girls have their abundant black locks done up in
two large and very peculiar coils, one behind each ear. These
coils stand far out from the head, like huge black buttons, and
give a startling appearance to the wearer. Sometimes you
woidd fancy that she has a pair of short, curving horns. But
on close inspection one of these coils is found to resemble
nothing else so much as a black squash-blossom in its full
bloom — and that is exactly what it is designed to typify.
Among the Hiipi the squash-blossom is the emblem of
maidenhood. Before marriage a girl must always wear her
hair thus ; but after mari'iage she must dress it in two pen-
dent rolls, one by each ear. These rolls are supposed to re-
semble— and do resemble — the long, closed squash-blossom.

WTIERE THEY BEG THE BEAR'S PARDON.

is interesting to notice that the Navajo Indians,
who are the nearest neighbors of the Moquis,
liave superstitions widely different though quite
as benighted. They mil not touch a snake un-
der any circumstances. So extreme are their
prejudices that one of their skilled silversmiths was beaten
nearly to death by his fellows for making to my order a sil-
ver bracelet which represented a rattlesnake; and the ob-
noxious eml)leni was promptly destroyed by the raiders —
along ^dth the offendei*'s hut.

Living almost wholly upon game as they do, the Navajos
cannot be prevailed upon to taste either fish or rabbit. I
have known some very ludicrous things to happen when
meanly mischievous Americans deluded Navajos into eat-
ing either of these forbidden dishes; and sometimes there
have been very serious retaliations for the ill-mannered joke.
Rabbits are wonderfully numerous in the Navajo country,
being molested only by feathered and four-footed enemies ;
but the Indian who would fight to the death sooner than
touch a delicious rabbit-stew is greedily fond of the fat and

WHERE THEY BEG THE BEAR'S PARDON. 59

querulous prairie-dog. That whole region abounds in " dog-
towns/' and they are frequently besieged by their swarthy
foes. A Navajo will stick a bit of nm-ror in the entrance of
a buiTow, and lie behind the little mound all day, if need
be, to secure the coveted prize. Wlien Mr. Tusa ventiu'es
from his bedroom, deep underground, he sees a famihar im-
age mocking him at the front door ; and when he hurries
out to confront this impudent intruder, whiz ! goes a chal-
cedony-tipped arrow through him, pinning him to the ground
so that he cannot tuml)le back into his home, as he has a
wonderful faculty for d(jing even in death ; or a dark hand
darts from behind hke lightning, seizes his chunky neck
safely beyond the reach of his chisel-shaped teeth, and breaks
his spine with one s^Hft snap.

But when the summer rains come, then is woe indeed to
the populous communities of these ludicrous little rodents.
As soon as the downpoiu- begins, every adjacent Navajo be-
tween the ages of three and ninety repairs to the tusa vil-
lage. They bring rude hoes, sharpened sticks, and knives, and
every one who is able to dig at all falls to w^ork, unmind-
ful of the drenching. In a very short time a lot of little
trenches are dug, so as to lead the storm- water to the mouths
of as many burrows as possible ; and soon a little stream is
pouring down each.

" Mercy ! " says Mr. Tusa to his fat mfe and dozen chubby
youngsters ; "I wish we could elect aldermen that would at-
tend to the drainage of this to^m ! It 's a shame to have our
cellars flooded like this ! " — and out he pops to see what can

60 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

be done. The only thing he can do is to swell the sad heap
of his fellow-citizens, over which strange two-footed babies,
far bigger than his, are shonting in wild glee. Such a rain-
hunt often nets the Navajos many hundred pounds of jDraiiie-
dogs ; and then there is feasting for man}^ a day in the rude,
cold liogans, or huts of sticks and dirt which are the only
habitation of these Indians.

With the Pueblos, the mountain-lion or cougar is the king
of beasts — following our civilized idea very closely ; but
with the Navajos the bear holds first rank. He is not only
the greatest, wisest, and most powerful of brutes, but even
surpasses man ! The Navajo is a brave and skilled warrior,
and would not fear the bear for its deadly teeth and claws,
but of its supposed supernatiu*al powers he is in mortal
dread. I have offered a Navajo shepherd, who had accident-
ally discovered a bear's cave, twenty dollars to sliow it to me,
or even to tell me in what canon it lay ; but he refused, in a
manner and with words which showed me that if I found the
cave I would be in danger from more than the l)ear. The
Indian was a very good friend of mine, too ; but he was sure
that if he were even the indirect cause of any harm to the
bear, the bear would know it and kill him and all his family !
So even my princely offer was no inducement to a man who
was working hard for five dollars a month.

There is only one case in which the Navajos will meddle
with a bear. That is when he has killed a Navajo, and the
Indians know exactlv which bear is the murderer. Then a
strong, armed party, headed by the proper religious officers

WHERE THEY BEG THE BEAR'S PARDON. 61

(medicine-men), proceed to the cave of the bear. Halting a
short distance in front of the den, they go through a strange
service of apology, which to us would seem entu'cly ludicrous,
but to them is unutterably solemn. The praises of the bear,
commander of beasts, are loudly sung, and his pardon is
humbly invoked for the unpleasant deed to which they are
now di'iven ! Having duly apologized beforehand, they pro-
ceed as best they may to kill the bear, and then go home to
fast and purify themselves. This aboriginal greeting, "I
beg yom* pardon, and hope you ^vl\l bear no resentment
against me, but I have come to kill you," is quite as funny as
the old farmer I used to know in New Hampshh'e, who was
none too polite to his wife, but always addressed his oxen
thus : '' Now, if you i)lease, whoa hish, Bary ! Also Bonny !
There ! Thank vou ! "

The Navajos also make frequent prayers and sacrifices to
the bear.

Under no circumstances will a Navajo touch even the skin
of a bear. The equally dangerous mountain-lion he hunts
eagerly, and its beautiful, tawny hide is his proudest trophy
outside of war, and the costliest material for his quivers,
bow-cases, and rifle-sheaths. Nor Tvill he touch a coyote.

A Navajo will never enter a house in which death has
been, and his wild domain is full of huts abandoned forever.
Nor after he is married dare he ever see his wife's mother ;
and if by any e\dl chance he happens to catch a glimpse of
her, it takes a vast amount of fasting and prayer before he
feels secure from dangerous results. The grayest and most
6

SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

dignified chief is not above walking backward, running like
a scared boy, or hiding his head in his blanket, to avoid the
dreaded sight.

Feathers figure very prominently in the religious customs
of most aborigines, and remarkably so in the southwest.
Among Navajos and Pueblos alike these plume-symbols are

PUEBLO PRAYER-STICKS.

of the utmost efficacy for good or bad. They are part of al-
most every ceremonial of the infinite superstitions of these
tribes. Any white or bright-hued plume is of good omen —
"good medicine," as the Indian would put it. The gay
feathers of the parrot are particularly valual)le, and some
dances cannot be held without them, though the Indians have
to travel hundreds of miles into Mexico to get them. A pea-

WHERE THEY BEG THE BEAR'S PARDON. 63

cock is harder to keep in the vicinity of Indians than the
finest horse — those brilliant plumes are too tempting.

Eagle feathers are of sovereign value ; and in most of the
pueblos great, dark, captive eagles are kept to furnish the
coveted articles for most important occasions. If the bird of
freedom were suddenly exterminated now, the whole Indian
economy would come to a standstill. No Avitches could be
exorcised, nor sickness cured, nor much of anything else
accomplished.

Dark feathers, and those in particular of the owl, buzzard,
woodpecker, and raven, are unspeakably accursed. No one
will touch them except those who " have the evil road," — that
is, are witches, — and anv Intlian found mth them in his or
her possession would be officially tried and officially put to
death ! Such feathers are used only in secret by those who
wish to kill or harm an enemy, in whose path they are laid
with wicked mshes that ill-fortune mav follow.

How many of my young countrymen who have read of
the " prayer- wheels " of Burmah, and the paper prayers of
the Chinese, know that there is a mechanical prayer used
by thousands of people in the United States ? The Pueblo
^' prayer-stick " is quite as ciuious a device as those of the
heathen Orient ; and the feather is the chief part of it.

Prowling in sheltered ravines about any Pueblo town, the
curiosity-seeker will find, stuck in the ground, carefully
whittled sticks, each with a tuft of downy feathers (generally
white) bound at the top.

Each of these sticks is a prayer — and none the less earnest

64 SOME STEANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

and sincere because so misguided. Around the remote pue-
blo of Zuiii I have counted over three thousand of these
strange invocations in one day's ramble ; but never a tithe
as many by any other pueblo.

According to the nature of the prayer, the stick, the
feathers, and the manner of tying them vary. The Indian
who has a favor to ask of the Trues prepares his feather-
prayer with. gi*eat solemnity and secrecy, takes it to a proper
spot, prays to all Those Above, and plants the prayer-stick
that it may continue his petition after he has gone home.

This use of the feather is also shared by the Navajos ; and
so is what may be called the smoke-prayer, in which the
smoke of the sacred cigarette is blown east, north, west,
south, up and down, to scare away the evil spirits and please
the good ones.

In a corner of the Navajo country, too, is another cui'iosity
of wliich few Americans are aware — a catacomb of genuine
mummies ! This is in the grim Canon de Tsay-ee, — igno-
rantly caUed " du CheUe," — which is lined along the ledges of
its dizzy cliffs with the prehistoric houses of the so-called
Cliff-dwellers. These were not an unknown race at all, but
our o^\ai Pueblo Indians of the old days when defense against
savage neighbors was the first object in life.

These stone houses, cUnging far up the gloomy precipice,
were inaccessible enough at best, and are doubly so now that
their ladders have crumbled to dust. In them are many
strange relics of prehistoric times, and in some the embalmed
bodies of their long-forgotten occupants. There is a still

WHERE THEY BEG THE BEAR'S PARDON.

larger " deposit/' so to speak, of American mummies in the
wildly picturesque San Juan country, in the extreme north-
western corner of New Mexico and adjacent parts of Colorado
and -Utah. They are in similar cliff-built ruins, and belong
to the same strange race. So we have one of Egj^t's famous
wonders here at home.

The largest Indian tribes of the Colorado desert have from
time immemorial cremated their dead on funeral p}T"es, after
the fashion of the classic ancients and of modern India. All
the property of the deceased is burned in the same flames, and
the mourners add their own treasures to the pile. So prop-
erty does not accumidate among the Mojaves, and there is
no contesting of wills.

PUEBLO HUNTING FETICHES.

VI.

THE witches' corner.

[HIS veiy year at least one witch has been offi-
cially put to death in the United States, after
an official trial. Last year many witches were
executed, and many the year before, and many
the year before that — and so on back for centuries. Is n't
that a strange corner of our own country of which you did
not dream? I shall never forget the awe which filled me
when, soon after coming to New Mexico, I found myself
in a land of active Avitchcraft. Of all the marvelous things
in the unwritten southwest, the superstitions of the na-
tives impressed me most deeply. I thought to have settled
in New Mexico, U. S. A. ; but it seemed that I had moved
into another world and into the centm^v before last. To
hear my neighbors gravely discussing the condition of so-
and-so, who " had been be^^itched " ; to have this and that
person pointed out to me with the warning " Cuidado de ella
— es hruja! " * to learn that an unfortunate was put to death
yesterday "for being a witch" — it often made me pinch my-
self to see if I were not di*eaming. But it was no di'eam.

* "Look out for her — she is a witch ! "

THE WITCHES' CORNER. 67

The belief in witchcraft is a bitter reality in the wild south-
west. There are some 175,000 souls in Ncav Mexico, of
whom foiu' fifths can neither read nor wi'ite, and about 30,-
000 of whom are Indians, 25,000 Americans, and the rest
Mexicans. Of com'se the Americans have no faith in
wdtches, nor do the educated Mexicans; but aU the Indians
and probably ninety per cent, of the brave but ignorant
Mexicans are firm believers in this astounding superstition.
There are very few towns in this enormous territory most of
whose people do not believe in and dread one or more re-
puted mtches among their own number ; and in the Pueblo
towns and among the nomad Navajos and other Indians
witches are so numerous as to be the gi'eatest of all dangers.
In my own pueblo of Isleta, which numbers over eleven hun-
dred souls, nearly half the people are believed to be witches,
and the only thing which prevents a bloody war upon them
by the ^' True Believers '^ is fear of the Americans, of whom
there are several thousands onlv twelve miles awav. It is
only a little while since a weU-kno\vTi young Indian of this
village was imprisoned and tortui'cd (by the stocks and neck-
yoke) on formal accusation that he was a witch ; and stiU less
time since my neighbor two doors away was executed at mid-
night, presumably for the same " crime " — since he was killed
in the specific manner prescribed by Tigua customs for the
slaving of witches. To keep dow^i witchcraft is the foremost
official dutv of the medicine-men ; and when a mtch is con-
victed, on accusation and " proof," it is the oifice of one of
the branches of medicine-men (the hun-pali-iclut-lali-iven, or

68 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

guards) to execute him or her by shootiug with au arrow
thi'ough the whole body from left side to right side. Isleta
is now one of the most ci\ihzed of the pueblos j its people
are the kindest parents and the best neighbors I know ; and
yet the sui3ernatui'al dread of supernatural harm turns them
at times as far from theu' real selves as were our own god-
fearing forefathers in New England when they bui'ued poor
old women alive. Sandia — a pueblo of the same tribe as
Isleta (the Tiguas, or Tee-wahn) — a few leagues north of
here, has been so decimated by the official killing-off of
witches that it bids fair soon to become extinct ; and these
executions still continue. The first business of all "medi-
cine-makings"— which are not to compound remedies for
sickness alone, though that is " cured " by remarkable means,
but to avert all dangers and invoke all prosperities for the
town, its people, its animals, its crops, etc. — is to drive away
and punish all witches who can be reached. So in all prayers,
all dances, and in fact in all ceremonies whatever, the first ser-
\^ce is to disperse the evil spirits who may be hovering about.
When a child is born there are numerous ceremonials to keep
it from being appropriated by the witches. When a person
dies, the four davs which his soul will take to reach the other
world are filled bv the medicine-men wdth the most lal)orious
and astounding incantations and charms, T\dth smoke to blind
the eyes of the witches, and mth false trails and other de-
vices to throw them off the track of the journejdng soul, lest
they overtake it and swoop it away to the accursed land.
It needs very little to lay an Indian open to the suspicion

THE WITCHES' CORNER. 69

of having " the evil road." If he have red eyes, as though he
had been awake o' nights, instead of sleeping peacefully as
a good Indian should, he is at once looked upon with distrust.
If he have an enemy, and that enemy becomes sick, it is stiU
more convincing. The medicine-men mil proceed secretly to
search the house of the suspected person ; and if they find
any of the feathers of the accursed birds (the chief of which
are the owl, raven, and woodpecker) or any other implements
of witchcraft, his doom is sealed. To us it seems murder ;
but it is as judicial as our civilized punishments, for the sen-
tence is pronounced by the recognized judges, and carried
out by the official executioners. There are numerous charms
against ^vitches — quite as valuable as our own horseshoe
over the door — and the boundless folk-lore of this strange
people is full of the doings of " those of the evil road," and of
the retribution mth which they are always visited in the end.

Witchcraft is a common faith to all aborigines; so it is
somewhat less surprising that the Pueblos believe in it,
though they are so different from other Indians in so many
important points.* But my first encounter mth witches and
witch-believers was more astounding, for the people were
actual citizens and voters of this enlightened republic !

Among the uneducated mass of Mexicans — who are the
vast majority of their people here — the belief in liecliiseria or
hnijeria (wdtchcraft) is as strong as among the Indians, though

* The Pueblos are, in fact, entitled to all the rights of American
citizenship, including the ballot, under the solemn pledges our govern-
ment made to Mexico in the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, more than
half a century ago ; but they have never been given these rights.

70 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

their witches are less numerous. It is a remnant of the far
past. We have still the official records of many trials of
"witches before S^^anish courts in this territory, covering a
couple of centuries. Sometimes a whole bunch of witches
were tried at once, with all the solemnity of a liigh Spanish
tribunal, and those found guilty were duly put to death, just
as if they had been mm'derers. .

Of later years the intelligence of the educated Mexicans
has rendered such trials no longer possible, and no Mexican
would think now of bringing a witch into court ; but pro-
ceedings outside the law are not entirely done with. In
the year 1887, to my knowledge, a poor old Mexican woman
was beaten to death in a remote town by two men who be-
lieved they had been bemtched by her ; and no attempt was
ever made to j^unish her slayers ! A few months later I had
the remarkable pri\dlege of photographing three " mtches "
and some of the people they had " beivitched." One Mexi-
can, of whom I have also a picture, claims that he was per-
manently crippled by these three poor women, and his right
leg is sadly twisted — though most of us would see in it more
of rheumatism than of witchcraft. But vou never could make
Fafapalo believe that. He had offended the women, and
afterward thoughtlessly drank some coffee they proffered;
and his leg at once grew crooked — what could be plainer
than that they had bewitched him ?

A much more intelligent man than the poor town-butch-
er, Patapalo, tells — and believes — a much more astounding
story. He incurred the displeasure of a witch in San Mateo,

THE WITCHES' CORNER. 71

and is ready to make oath that she turned him into a woman !
He had to pay another witch in the distant canon Juan de
San Taf oya to turn him back to man again ! He is a person
of whose sincere behef in this ridiculous statement there can
be no doubt, and his intelligence in other matters emphasizes
the depth of his superstitious ignorance in this. I know
several other Mexicans who claim to have been bewitched in
the same way ; and the stories of minor misfortunes at the
hands of the witches are innumerable. They can be heard
in any New Mexican hamlet.

There is one good thing about Mexican witches — they
never harm the dumb animals. Their sorceries are used only
against human beings who have aroused then* enmity. One
who enjoys the rather dangerous reputation of being a witch
is cordially feared and hated, but finds some comi^ensations.
Few Mexicans are reckless enough to refuse any gift or favor
the supposed witch may ask. On the other hand, few dare
eat anything offered by a witch, for in case they have un-
wittingly offended her they are sure the food or drink will
cause a live, gnawing animal to gi'ow within them ! A favor-
ite revenge of the wdtches is to make strange sores upon the
face of the offender, which mil not be healed until the -witeh
is appeased by presents and draws out a stick or string or
rag — somewhat after the fashion of the Pueblo wizards, of
whom I will tell you presently. Other persons are made
blind, or deaf, or lame. Indeed, almost any affliction which
may befall one is very apt to be charged at once by these
superstition-ridden people to some witch or other.

72 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

There are many very curious details in the Mexican witch-
faith. No witch, for instance, can pass a sign of the cross ;
and a couple of pins or sticks placed in that shape effectually
bars Tvitches from entering the room or from emerging if the
holy emblem is between them and the door. The spoken
name of God or the Virgin Mary breaks a witch's spell at
once. It is soberly related by many people of my acquaint-
ance that they employed witches to bear them pick-a-back
togi'eat distances; but becoming alarmed at the enormous
height to which the witches flew with them, they cried, " God
save me ! '^ or something of the sort, and instantly fell thou-
sands of feet to the ground, but were not badly hurt !

Mexican witches do not fly about on broomsticks, like
those in whom our forefathers beheved, but in an even more
remarkal)le fashion. By day they are plain, commonplace
people, but at night they take the shapes of dogs, cats, rats,
or other animals, and sally forth to witch-meetings in the
mountains, or to prowl about the houses of those they dislike.
So when the average Mexican sees a strange cat or dog about
his home at night he feels a horror which seems out of place
in a man who has proved his courage in bloody Indian wars
and all the perils of the frontier.

Wlien witches wish to fly, they generally retain theif hu-
man form, but assume the legs and eyes of a coyote or other
animal, leaving their o^vn at home. Then saying (in Spanish,
of course), " Without God and without the Vii'gin Mary," they
rise into the air and sail away. A sad accident once befell a
male mtch named Juan Perea, whom I knew in San Mateo,

THE WITCHES' CORNER. 73

but wlio died a couple of years ago. It was asserted tliat
one night lie went flying off mtli the eyes and legs of a cat,
leaving his own on the kitchen table. His poor starved
shepherd-dog overtiu'ned the table and ate the eyes, and Juan
had to go through the rest of his life wearing the green eyes
of a cat ! That the pigmies of Africa should believe such
things would not be strange ; but what do you think of them
as articles of faith for American voters ?

You have all watched the "shooting stars" with wonder
— but with no such feeling as that with which the natives
here see them ; for here those fiery hails are supposed to be
witches, flying to their nightly meetings !

Any one bearing the blessed name of Juan (John) has the
sole power of catching mtches. All he has to do is to draw
a nine-foot circle on the ground, turn his shirt inside out, and
call the witch, who must at once fall helpless into this circle !
As there are innumerable Juans here, they doubtless would
have exterminated all the mtches long ago, except for the
unpleasant "fact" that whenever a John exercised this re-
markable power all the other mtches in the country fell upon
him and beat him to death !

A di'unken fellow in Cebolleta, a few years ago, kicked a
mtch. In revenge she caused a live mouse to gi^ow in his
stomach. The little rodent made its landlord's life miser-
able for a long time before he coidd bribe the witch to coax
it out through his mouth !

These are fair samples of unnumbered thousands of stories
which illustrate the firm faith of my neighbors in witchcraft.
7

74 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

It seems fairly cliildish to speak of them soberly, and yet they
are imphcitly believed by more citizens of the United States
than there are in any New England city outside of Boston.
In this strange corner of our country witchcraft is a concern
of daily thought and di'ead, as it was in the older world a
few centuries ago, when the same superstition splashed all
Europe with the l^lood of unfortunate T\Tetches. I have had
even more intimate concern with witchcraft, both as accused
and as victim. My photograpliic and other mysterious work
has more than once led suspicious Indians to view me as a
hecliicero; and it is still the common belief among my abo-
riginal friends that I have been beAvitched l)y some even
more powerful wizard.

A stroke of parah^sis in 1888 rendered my left arm power-
less for more than three vears and a half. The cause was
simple enough — the breaking of a tiny l)lood- vessel in the
brain. But my Indian friends — and even many Mexicans —
smiled "wdth a pitA^ng superiority at this explanation. They
would never swallow such a sillv story — thev knew well
enough that I had been be^Adtched ! Some even suggested
that I should accuse the witch, and have him or her properly
dealt with ! My final complete recovery — thanks to a power-
ful constitution and an out-door life — onlv confirmed their
behef. Now they Inew I had paid some other witch to cure
me!

VII.

THE MAGICIANS.

UR civilized "magicians/'
like Herrmann and liis
predecessors, earn tlieir liveli-
hood by exhibiting their mar-
velous dexterity, but with-
out any claim to superhuman
powers. They avowedly rely
only upon their hands, edu-
cated to surpassing cleverness
by tedious years of practice,
and upon various ingenious machines and accessories. Per-
haps this frankness, however, is partly due to the fact that
any supernatural pretense would be laughed at by their in-
telligent auditors; and if we were all prepared to accept
them as real magicians, I am not at all sure that they would
not wiUingly pose as such.

With the aboriginal wizard there is no such stimulus to
frankness. If his audiences have eyes incomparably less
easv to be befooled than oiu's, their intellectual vision is less
acute. To outdo even those matchlessly observant eyes, he

76 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

has only to be matchlessly adi'oitj and when the eyes are
once over-matched, his auditors are ready to accept any ex-
planation he may choose to give. He therefore claims super-
natural powers, given to him by Those Above j and my
studies convince me that he hmiself believes this as fully as
do any of his people — so easy is it for us all, in time, to im-
pose upon ourselves even more than upon others.

Superstition is the corner-stone of all the strange aborigi-
nal religions. Everything which the Indian does not abso-
lutely understand he attributes to a supernatural cause —
and to a personified one. The rainbow is a bow of the gods 5
the hghtning, their arrows ; the thunder, their drum ; the
sun, their shield. The very animals are invested with super-
natm'al attributes, according to their power to injure man or
to do him good. In such a system as this a man who can
do or appear to do what others cannot is naturally regarded
as having superhuman gifts — in shoi-t, he is a wizard. The
chief influence and authoritv with all aboriginal tribes lie in
their medicine-men, and these are always magicians. They
have gained their ascendancy by their power to do wonder-
ful and inexplicable things j and this ascendancy is main-
tained in the hands of a small, secret class, which never dies
out, since it is constantly recruited by the adoption of boys
into the order, to which theu" lives are thenceforth absolutely
devoted. The life of a medicine-man is a fearfully hard one.
The manual practice alone which is necessary to acquire that
marvelous legerdemain is almost the task of a lifetime ; and
there are countless enormous fasts and other seK-denials,

THE MAGICIANS. 77

which are so rigorous that these magicians seldom attain to
the great age which is common among their people. With
the Indian magicians as with ours^ conjuring is the means of
liveliliood, but in a different and indirect waj^ They neither
charge an admittance-fee nor take up a collection, but receive
less direct returns from the faith of their fellow-aborigines
that they are " precious to The Trues/' and that their favor
should be cultivated by presents. The jugglers of India, of
whom we read so much, will exhil)it their marvelous tricks to
any one for a consideration ; but no money in the world
would tempt one of our Indian jugglers to admit a stranger
to the place where he was performing his wonders. To him,
as to his people, it is a matter not of money but of religion.

The aboriginal magicians with whom I am best acquainted
are the medicine-men of the Navajo and Pueblo Indians of
New Mexico, and astounding performers they are. It is
impossible to say which are the more dextrous, though the
Navajos have one trick which I have never seen equaled by
the world's most famous prestidigitators. If these stern
bronze conjurers had the civilized notion of making money
by exhibiting themselves, they could amass fortunes. They
have none of the cabinets, mirrors, false-bottomed cases, or
other appliances of our stage-mzards ; and they lack the
greatest aid of the latter — the convenient sleeves and pock-
ets. Their tricks are done in a bare room, with a hard clay
floor under wliicli are no springs or wires, with no accesso-
ries whatever.

The 2)rincipal occasions of Pueblo and Navajo magic are

78 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

at the medicine-makings, when the people gather to see the
shamans (medicine-men) heal sickness, foretell the year, or
give thanks to The Trnes for its prosperity, and perform
other rites belonging to snch ceremonials. These medicine-
makings among the Pueblos are held in one of the medicine-
honses — a gi'eat room sacred to the shamans and never to
be profaned by any other use. There is one jnst behind the
Indian honse in which I live. The Navajos hold them in the
jnedicme-Jiogduda — a large conical hut, equalh^ devoted to
this sole purpose.

After the preliminary prayers to Those Above, the disper-
sion of e\dl spu'its, and other extremely cm-ions and inter-
esting ceremonies whieli I have no space to describe here,
the business of the medicine-dance is to cure tliose who are
sick or afflicted — that is, according to the Indian idea, be-
witched. There is no giving of remedies, as we nnderstand
the phrase — all is magic. The "medicine" {wain', in the
language of this pnel)lo) is ratlier mental and moral than
physical ; and the doses are from nimljle fingers and not
from vials. An American "medicine-man" wonld open his
eyes very wide if he could see how these swarthy doctors put
up a prescription.

The shamans dance during the whole of their professional
duties, and most of the time have in each hand a long
feather from the ^Wng of an eagle. Earlier in the perform-
ance these feathers have been used to toss up e\dl si)irits so
that the mud may bear them away ; l)ut now they serve as
lancets, probes, and iu fact the whole surgical-case and medi-

THE MAGICIANS. 79

cine-chest. A sliaman dances np to a sick person in the au-
dience, puts the tip of the feather against the patient, and
with the quill in his mouth sucks diligently for a moment.
The feather seems to swell to a great size, as though some
large object were passing through it. Then it resumes its
natural size, the shaman begins to cough and choke, and
dii'ectly with his hand draws from his mouth a large rag, or
a big stone, or a foot-long branch of the myi'iad-bristUng
buckhorn-cactus — while the patient feels vastly relieved at
having such an unpleasant lodger removed from his cheek or
neck or eye ! No wonder he had felt sick ! Sometimes the
magician does not use the feather at all, but with his bare
hand plucks from the body of the sick man the remarkable
" disease," which is waved aloft in triumph and then passed
around to the audience for critical inspection. In the whole
performance, it must be remembered, the wizards have not
even the advantage of distance, but are close enough to touch
the audience.

Common to these same medicine-dances is the startlinfi:
illusion of the witch-killing. In the bowl of sacred water
which stands before him, the chief shaman is supposed to see
as in a mirror everji^hing that is happening in the whole
world, and even far into the future. At times, as he bends
to blow a delicate WTcatli of smoke from the sacred cigarette
across the magic mirror, he cries out that he sees witches in
a certain spot doing ill to some Indian. The Oum-pdli-huif-
Jali-wen (medicine-guards) rush out of the room with their
bows and arrows — which are the insignia of their office,

80 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY. •

witliout which they must never appear — to get the witches„
In a short time thej^ retnrn, bringing theii' victims by the
long hair. These '^ dead witches " are in face, dress, and
everything else exactly like Indians, except that they are no
larger than a three-year-old child. Each has the feathers of
an arrow projecting under the left arm, while the agate or
volcanic glass tip shows under the right. Of course they are
manikins of some sort; luit the deception is sickeningly
perfect. The guards swing them up to the very faces of the
audience to be looked at; and sometimes drops of apparent
blood spatter upon the awed spectators.

Another remarkable feat of these jugglers is to build upon
the bare floor a hot fire of cedar- wood, so close as almost to
roast the foremost of the audience. Then the dusky magi-
cians, still keeping up their weird chant — which must never
be stopped during the services — dance bare-footed and bare-
legged in and upon the fire, hold their naked arms in the
flames, and eat living coals vdth smacking lips and the utmost
seeming gusto. There can be no optical illusion about this
— it is as plain as daylight. Of course there must have been
some preparation for the fiery ordeal, but what it is no one
knows save the initiated, and it is certainly made many hours
beforehand, for the performers have been in plain sight for a
very long time.

Another equally startling trick is performed when the
room has been darkened by extinguishing the countless
candles which gave abundant light on the other ceremonies.
The awed audience sit awhile in the gloom in hushed ex-

THE MAGICIANS. 83

pectancy. Then they hear the low growl of distant thnnder,
which keeps rolling nearer and nearer. Suddenly a bhnding
flash of forked lightning shoots across the room from side to
side, and another and another, while the room trembles to
the roar of the thunder, and the flashes show terrified women
clinging to their husl)ands and brothers. Outside the sky
may be twinkling with a million stars, but in that dark room
a fearful storm seems to l^e raging. If one of these al)o-
riginal Jupiters Avould condescend to superintend the light-
nings for our theaters, Ave should have much more realistic
stage-storms tlian ^yv. do. These artificial storms last l)ut a
few moments, and when they are over the room is lighted
up again for the other ceremonies. How these effects are
produced I am utterly unable to explain, but the}^ are start-
lingly real.

The characteristic feature of one of the medicine-dances of
the Beer-ahn here in Isleta is the swallowing of eighteen-inch
swords to the very hilt, by the naked (except for the tiny
breech-clout) performers. These swords are double-edged,
sharp-pointed, and, as nearly as I can tell, about two inches
wide. So far as I know, no other of the numerous classes of
medicine-men here perform this feat.

In the great Navajo medicine-dance of Dsil-yid-je Quacal,
one of the most important ceremonies of the nine-days'
'^ dance " is the swallowing of the " gi-eat plumed arrows " by
the almost naked conjurers in similar fashion. After they
have been withdrawn from the mouths of the magicians, the
magical arrows (wliicli have the ancient stone heads) are ap-

84 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

plied to the patieut, being pressed to the soles of his feet, to
his knees, hands, stomach, back, shonlders, cro^vn of head,
and month.

In this same remarkable and almost endless Navajo cere-
monial, some of the magicians (generally in a band of ten or
a dozen) perform the startling fire-dance. The conjnrers are
clad only in the breech-clout, and each carries in his hands a
long bundle of shredded cedar-bark. The dance is performed
around an enormous fire in a corral known as the Dark-
Cu'cle-of -Branches. Each lights his bark flambeau, and then
they run at top speed around and around the bonfire. They
hold theii' torches against their OT^^l nude bodies, then
against those of their companions, often for two or three
minutes at a time j they whip each other with these burning
scom'ges, and rub each other do\^^l with them, taking and
giving veritable baths of fii*e as they run madly around the
circle, the flames streaming behind them in fiery banners.
Dr. Washington Matthews, the foremost student of Navajo
customs, has said officiallv : "I have seen manv fire scenes
on the stage, many acts of fire-eating and fli'e-handling by
civdhzed jugglers, but nothing quite comparable to this."

Another Navajo jugglery is to stand a feather on end in
a flaring, pan-shaped basket, and dance with it as a partner.
The Indian — in this case sometimes the dancer is a very
young boy — dances in proper fashion around the basket;
and the feather dances too, hopping gently up and down, and
swaying in the direction of its human partner. If he dances
to the north, the feather leans northward ; if he moves to the

THE MAGICIANS. 85

south, tlie featlier tips southward, and so on, as if the quill
were actually reaching out to him !

There is also " magic '^ in the foretelling of the year, which
is done by the chief shaman and his two first-assistants.
This medicine-dance is always by or before the middle of
March, many weeks before a green blade of any sort is to be
found in this climate. These three officials go out from the
meeting to the banks of the Rio Grande, and presently return
with stalks of green corn and wheat — which they declare
was brought to them by the river direct from The Trues.
These stalks are handed about among the audience, and then
the chief shaman draws from them the omens for the crops
of the coming season.

The last service of the medicine-dance before the benedic-
tion-song is the " seed-giving," which is itself a sleight-of-hand
trick. The chief fetich of the shamans is "the Mother" —
an ear of spotless white corn w^ith a plume of downy white
feathers bound to the head. It represents the mother of all
mankind, and during the whole medicine-dance one of these
queer objects has been sitting in front of each medicine-man.
Now, as all in the audience rise, the chief shaman and his as-
sistants shake their " Mothers " above the heads of the throng
in token of blessing j and out pours a perfect shower of ker-
nels of corn, wheat, and seeds of all kinds, in a vastly greater
quantity than I woidd undertake to hide in ten times as
many of those little tufts.

The most remarkable of the feats of the Pueblo magicians
is one of which I cannot w^rite in detail, for I have never
8

86 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

seen it 5 l)ut that the trick is performed, and so well done as to
deceive the sharpest-eyed of the spectators, is a fact beyond
doul)t. The shamans are said at some special occasions to
tm-n themselves at mil into any animal shape • and where a
moment before had stood a painted Indian the audience sees
a wolf, or bear, or dog, or some other brnte ! This is in a
line with some of the most famous juggleries of India, and
is quite as wonderful a deception as any of them.

These are l)y no means the only tricks in the repertory of
the Pueblo conjurers, l)ut they are sufficient to illustrate the
marvelous dexterity and acb'oitness of these swartli}^ won-
der-workers, who jiroduce such surprising results with none
of the paraphernalia of more civihzed jugglers, and whose
magic has such a deep interest beyond its mere bewilderment
of the eye. It is one of the potent factors in a religion so
astonishing and so vastly complicated that whole volumes
would hardly exliaust the interest of the subject.

The Navajo magicians practise all these tricks and numer-
ous others. One of their manifestations which I have never
found among the Pueblos is the " mo\dng of the sun." This
takes place in the medicine-lodge at night — the time of all
official acts of the medicine-men. At the appointed time a
sun rises on the east (inside the room) and slowly describes
an arched course until at last it sets in the west side of the
room, and darkness reigns again. Dm'ing the whole per-
formance a sacred chant is kej^t up, and once started dare not
be interrupted until the sun has finished its course.

But the crowning achievement of the Navajo — and, in my

THE MAGICIANS. 89

knowledge^ of any Indian — magicians is the growing of the
sacred corn. At sunrise the shaman plants the enchanted
kernel before him, in full view of his audience, and sits sol-
emnly in his place singing a weird song. Presently the earth
cracks, and the tender green shoot pushes forth. As the
magician sings on the young plant grows visibly, reaching
upward several inches an horn', waxing thick and putting out
its drooping blades. If the juggler stops his song the growth
of the corn stops, and is resumed only when he recommences
his chant. By noon the corn is tall and vigorous and already
tasseled-out j and by sunset it is a mature and perfect plant,
with its tall stalk, sedgy leaves, and silk-topped ears of corn !
How the trick is performed I have never been able to form
so much as a satisfactory guess ; but done it is, as plainly as
eyes ever saw anything done, and apparently with as little
chance for deception.

Tin.

THE SELF-CRUCIFIERS.

ROM the witclies, and witliin the same strange
corner of onr country where they still floui'ish,
it is an easy step to a much more wonderful
fanaticism, to the most wonderful, perhaps, in
the limits of the civilized world. It is a relic
of a barbarism so incredible that one can hardly l)lame those
who could not believe it possible. I should have been as
skeptical myself, though thousands of Americans have seen
it, if I had not myself viewed the astounding sight. And
in corroboration of my eyes there are l)eside me a score of
photographs, which very nearly cost me my life in the
taking, and several times since.

You may have learned that in the Middle Ages nearly the
whole of Europe had a strange epidemic — a fever of peni-
tential self -whipping. The Flagellants, as they were called,
paraded the streets lashing themselves with scourges, or used
the whip at home. Even kings caught the infection, and
abused their own roval backs. It took centuries to eradi-
cate this remarkable custom. There is nothing left of it in

Europe now ; and one who wishes to see so strange a sight

THE SELF-CRUCIFIERS. 91

must go not abroad but to a neglected corner of oui* own
land.

Wben I read in bovliood of the awful self-tortures of tbe
Fakeers of India, I little di^eamed that I should come to live
among a class of men who fully parallel their worst self-
cruelties, and men who are citizens of the United States, with
votes as good as mine.

The Penitentes or Penitent Brothers were once very nu-
merous in New Mexico, but have been quietly stamped out
Ijy the Church until l^ut few active bands remain, and they
only in the most out-of-the-way hamlets. They are Mexicans,
and of course very ignorant and fanatic ones. Their strange
brotherhood — a remnant and perversion of the penitent
orders of the Middle Ages — is active only forty days in the
year, the forty days of Lent. At that time they flog their
ow^n naked l^acks ^Wth cruel scourges of aloe -fiber, carry
enormous crosses, lie on beds of cactus, and perform simi-
lar self-tortures, making pilgrimages thus. On Good Friday
they redouble their ghastly efforts, and finally crucify, upon
a real cross, one of their number w^ho is chosen by lot. He
does not always die under this awful torture, but when he
does, nothing is done to his fanatical brethren.

I sliall never forget my first encounter with the Peni-
tentes at San Mateo, N. M., in 1888, and there are very good
reasons w^hy I should not. Among them is a ball in my
throat. If the discovery that I was living among witches
had startled and aroused me, you may imagine my feelings
when, some months later, I learned that a living man w^as to

92 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

be crucified in town in a few days. This was learning some-
thing about my own country with a vengeance. The first
hint came one belated night as I retui'ned from hunting in
the mountains. Suddenly there rose upon the air the most
awful sound I ever heard. The hideous scream of the moun-
tain-lion, the deadly war-whoop, are tame beside it. You may
laugh at me for being scared at the simple whistle of a reed,
but if ever you hear that unearthlv ulnhition you will shiver
too. Words cannot describe its piercing, wild, uncanny shrill.
The official pitero afterward taught nie that simple air, and
it sounds very flat indeed when whistled ; but blown from
his shrieking reed, filling the air for miles so that one cannot
tell whether it comes from above, l)elow, or either hand, it is
as ill a sound as j^ou will ever wish to hear.

When I got home to my courtly Spanish friends and asked
the meaning of that unearthly foo-ootle-fee-oo they told me
about the Penitentes. It was Monday of Holy Week, and
they were making their nightly pilgrimages ; on Thursda}^
and Friday I could see them. What, in daylight ? Oh, yes.
Hurrah ! Then I will photograph them ! 1*0)' dios (Dnigo, l)ut
they will kill you if you think of such a ff)olhardy thing !
But who ever knew an enthusiast to be a coward in the line
of his hobbv ? If I had been certain of l)eing killed the next
moment, it is not sure that I should not have tried to get
the photographs first, so wrought up was I. And make the
photographs I did, twenty-five of them, with my one useful
hand quaking on the l)ulb of the Prosch shutter and now and
then snapping an instantaneous picture at the marvelous sight.

THE SELF-CRUCIFIERS. 93

with a cocked six-shooter lying on the top of the camera-box,
and lion-hke Don Ireneo and a stalwart peon with revolvers
in hand facing back the mnrderons mob. Perhaps the pic-
tnres were not worth the risk of that day and of the many
snbseqnent months when repeated attempts were made to as-
sassinate me ; bnt they are the only 2)hotographs that Avere
ever made of that strangest of the strange corners of om*
conntry, and I have never grndged the price. I afterward
got photographs of several of the chief Penitentes; and
have in my caliinet some of their blood-stained sconrges^
procnred at equal risk.

That was in 1888. The same year there were, to my know-
ledge, crucifixions in two other New Mexican towns, and
whipping and the other rites in twenty-three. In 1889, 1890,
and 1891 there were again crucifixions in San Mateo and
one other town that I know of, and there mav have been
more. Until within foiu- years there were also women-Peni-
tentes, but so far as I can learn they are no longer active.
They used to wind all their limbs wdth wire or ropes so
tightly as to stop the circulation, bear crosses, and march for
miles with unstockinged feet in shoes half fiUed with sharp
pebbles.

And these are your fellow-citizens and mine ! A^Hiat do
you think about going to Africa to fiiul barbarous customs,
or to Oberammergau for a Passion-play ?

IX.

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS.

N ludiau who dwells iu a house at all seems an
anomaly to most of us, who know none too
much of our own country. We picture him
always as a nomad, living in his wigwam or
tepee of Ijark or hide for a few days at a time,
and then moving his ''town" elsewhere. The astounded
look of the average traveler Avhen lie learns that we have
Indians who build and inhabit permanent and good dwell-
ings of many stories in height is never to be forgotten.

There are some tribes of recently civilized aborigines in
the Indian Territory Avho have learned to dwell in fairly good
farm-houses within a generation, and other remnants of tribes
elsewhere ; l)ut these all learned the habit from us, and re-
centlv. There is but one Indian tribe in North America above
Mexico which has always lived in permanent houses since
history began, and that is one of our very largest tril)es, the
Pueblos. When Colundms was vet trving to beat a New
World into the thick skuU of the Old, these simple, unlettered
" \dllage Indians " were ah-eady living in their strange but
comfortable and lof tv tenements, and no man knows for how

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS. 95

long before. And in very similar lionses tliey dwell to-day,
and in very much tlie same style as before tlie first European
eyes ever saw America. It took a great many generations for
our forefathers to attain to any buildings of more than fifty
rooms and three stories in this New World; but unkno\^'n
centuries before the landing of the Pilgrims — or even of the
Spaniards, who were more than a hundred years ahead of them
— the ignorant Indians of the southwest built and occupied
huge houses from four to six stories in height, and ^\^th some-
times half a thousand rooms * The influence of civilization
has largely affected Puel^lo architecture ; and most of, the
Indian to^\nis along the Rio Grande nowadays have but one-
and two-storied structures^ more after the Spanish style. But
there are hundreds of ruins of these enormous '• communitv-
houses" scattered over the two territories of Arizona and
New Mexico, and some in Colorado and Utah^ and some still
occupied towns of the same sort The most striking example
among living to^ais is the pueblo of Taos,t in the extreme
northern part of New Mexico. That wonderfully picturesque
town, loolving at Avhieh the traveler finds it hard to realize
that he is still in America, has but two houses ; but they are
five and six stories high, and contain about three hundred
rooms apiece. The pueblo of Acoma, in a western county,
has six houses, each three stories tall , and Zuiii, still farther

* Pecos had two houses of five hundred and seventeen and five hun-
dred and eighty-five rooms respectively.

+ Reached by a twenty-five-mile-wagon-ride from Embudo, on the
Denver and Rio Grande Railway.

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS. 97

westj lias a six-story community-honse covering many acres
and containing many linndi'ed rooms. The Moqni towTis are
tliree-storied. As for rnins of such buildings, tliey are every-
where. Some years ago I found in a remote and dangerous
corner of the Navajo country such a ruin — the t}^e of a
thousand others — in which the five-story community-house
formed an entire rectangle, inclosing a public square in the
middle. The outer walls of these houses never had doors or
windows, so they presented to any marauding foe a blank
wall of gi-eat height. On one side of this ruin is its most
uncommon feature — a gi-eat tower, with part of the fifth story
still standing, and still showing the loopholes by which the
beleaguered Pueblos showered agate-tipped arrows upon their
besiegers. This pueblo was a deserted and forgotten ruin
when the fii-st Spaniards entered tliis territory, three hundred
and fifty years ago.

AR these great houses were of stone masonry very well
laid. The builders had no metal of any sort, and therefore
could not dress stone, as many superficial observers have
supposed they did, but selected sandstones and limestones
which broke naturally into rather regular shape, and laid
these in mud mortar with remarkable skill. Down the un-
crumbled masonry of those prehistoric walls one can slide
the point of a spade as do^\Ti a dressed plank.

The architecture of the Pueblos is unique and character-
istic, and their original houses look unlike anj^thing else in
the world. They are all terraced, so that the front of a
building looks like a gigantic flight of steps. The second
9

98 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

story stands well back on the roof of the first, which thus
gives it a sort of broad, uncovered porch its whole length.
The third story is similarly placed upon the second, and so
on up. There are no stairs inside even the largest of these
buildings, except sometimes ladders to go down into the first
story when that is built in the old fashion without doors.
In Acoma, which has about seven hundred people, there
were, when I fij'st knew it, but six doors on the ground, and
there are but few more now. To get into the first story of
any of the hundreds of other tenements, one must go up a
ladder to the tu'st roof, enter the second-story room, lift a
wee trap-door in its floor, and back down another ladder to
the first-floor room. All the " stairs " are outside the house,
and can be moved from place to place — a plan which has
its advantages as well as its drawbacks — for they are all
simply tall, clumsy ladders.

All these architectural peculiarities were for purposes of
defense. The lower stoiy was a dead wall, into which no
enemy with only aboriginal weapons could break, and some
of these walls have laughed at civilized field-pieces.^ The lad-
ders could easily be drawn up, and the level roofs made an
excellent position from which to rain stones and arrows upon
a foe. Even if the enemy captured the fii'st roof, the people
had only to retire to the second, from which they could fight
down with undiminished advantage. From these terraces
the inhabitants could hold their own against a far superior
force. Besides, the tenements were generally built around a
square, so that their sheer back walls presented a cliff-like and

AN ANCIENT CLIFF-DWELLING.

100 SOME STRANGE COENERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

unbroken obstacle wliicli no savage foe could scale^ Avliile
their fronts faced upon the safe inner inclosui^e. At Pecos
(noAV deserted)^ which was the largest pueblo in the southwest,
and at many smaller towns, an Indian coidd step from his
door and walk around the whole town on any one of the tiers
of roofs. Sometimes these community-houses were terraced
on both sides ; and the two at Taos are like huge p^Tamids,
terraced on all four sides.

These fine stone walls were generally plastered mside and
out with adobe clay, wliich made them very smooth and neat,
particularly when brilliantly whitewashed, according to the
Pueblo custom, with g}^sum. The rafters are the straight
trunks of tapering pines stripped of their bark, and above
these is a roof of cross-sticks, straw, and clay, which is
perfectly water-tight. The windows are all small — another
relic of the old days of danger — and in the more primitive
houses the windows are only translucent sheets of g^i^sum.
Nearly every room has its queer southwestern fii-eplace, in
which the sticks are burned on end. Those for heating alone
are very tiny, and stand m a corner ; but the cooking fire-
places often fill one side of a room, and under one of their
capacious ''hoods" nearly a dozen people could sit.

As you may imasfine from what has been said of then*
houses, the Pueblos are very peculiar and interesting Indians
They live very neatly and comfortablv, and their homes are
generally as clean as wax. They are j^eaceable and indus-
trious, good hunters and l)rave warriors when need be, but
quiet farmers by profession, as they were when the outside

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS. 103

world first found them. They have always elected their o^ti
officials, and they obey the laws both of their own strange
government and of the United States in a way which they
certainly did not learn from us, for there is no American
community nearly so law-abiding. They are entirely seK-
supporting, and receive nothing from our government. They
are not poor nor lazy, and they do not impose servile tasks
upon their wives. One of my Pueblo neighbors in Isleta lent
the hard cash to pay off our troops in New Mexico during
the civil war !

Quite as interesting and remarkable as the best t^^pes of
present Pueblo communal houses are the ruins of their
still more ancient homes. It was long supposed that the
so-called " Cliff -builders " and "Cave-dwellers" were of an
extinct race ; and much more of silly and ignorant surmise
than of common-sense truth has been written about them.
But as soon as there was any really scientific investigation
of the southwest, like Bandelier's wonderful researches, the
fact was fully and finally established that the builders of
these great ruins were nothing in the world but Pueblo
Indians. They have not " vanished," but simply moved, for
a variety of reasons ; and their descendants are living to
this day in later pueblos. Indeed, we now know the history
of many of these ruins ; and the Indians themselves, that of
aU or nearly all.

The Pueblos used always to build in places which Nature
herself had made secure, and generally upon the top of mesas,
or " islands " of rock. Those who settled among the peculiar

104 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

terraced canons wliicli abound in some parts of the south-
west usually built their towns upon the shelves of the cliff ;
while those whose region fiu-nished precipices of easily carved
stone hollowed out caves therein for theii' dwellings. It all
depended on the locahty and the surroundings,

A canon of the " Chff -builders " is a wonderfully pictu-
resque and interesting place. The stratification was a great
help to the builders of these strange chasm-to^\^is, and doubt-
less first suggested to them the idea of putting their houses
there. The cliffs are many times as far apart, in such a
canon, at their tops as at the bottom, and a cross-section of
the canon woidd look something like this :

Sometimes there is a perennial stream at the bottom, but
oftener, in this arid region, the diy season leaves only a chain
of pools, which were, however, adequate for the water-supply
of these communities. The several lower shelves of the
gorge were never built upon, and the water was all carried
several hundred feet up the cliff in earthen jars or tight-
woven baskets on the heads of the industrious housewives.
Such inconvenience of the water-works has never deterred
the Pueblos, and it is a striking commentary upon the sav-
age dangers of their old life to see at what a fearful expense

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS.

105

of toil they brought water
any distance to a phice that
was safe. At Aconia to this
day every drop of di'iiiking-
water is brought in jars half
a mile over an enormously
difficult cliff trail, and in
some of the old-time pueblos
the daily water- journey was
even worse. They never
brought water thus and
filled tanks inside the town,
as some have fancied, but
stored it only in their earth-
en tinajas.

But safety was before
water, and so the swarthy
people Iniilt theu* homes far
up the side of the cliff, and
there was a gi-eat saving of
labor in another way. As
a rule the alternate strata in
those canons are of differ-
ent kinds of rock, and une-
qually eroded. Between each
pan* of harder strata the
softer intermediate one had
been so gnawed out by wind

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS. 107

and water that its neighbors above and below projected
many feet beyond it, the lower one always farthest ; so there
the ^' Cliff -builder " found that natui'e had made ready to his
hand three of the six sides of every room. The smooth, sohd
rock of the shelf was his floor, and a narrow but endless
porch outside as well. The overhanging rock of the ledge
above was his roof — frequently a very low one, but certainly
water-tight — and the face of the intermediate stratum was
his back wall. He had onlv to build three little stone walls
from stone floor to stone roof — a front wall and two end
walls — and there was his house.

These cliff-rooms were extremely small, varying according
to the strata, but seldom more than a dozen feet long, eight
or ten feet deep, and five to eight feet high. In many of
them no ordinary person could stand erect. There were sel-
dom any windows; and the doors, which served also as
chimneys, were very low and but twelve to eighteen inches
wide. An enemy at the very door would be so crouched and
cramped in entering, that those mthin could take him at a
disadvantage.

Think of a town whose sidewalks were three or four feet
wide, and more than that number of hundred feet apart,
and between them a stupendous gutter five hundi-ed feet
deep ! Tliink of those fat, dimpled, naked brown babies,
whose three-foot play-ground had no fence against a tumble
of half a thousand feet !

There are several of these canons of the ^^ Cliff -builders '^
easily accessible from the A. & P. R. R. at Flagstaff, Ai^izona.

108 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

They are gigantic gashes in the level uplands ; one comes to
their very brink without the remotest suspicion that such an
abyss is in front. One of these canons is over twenty miles
long, and in places six hundi^ed feet deep. It contains the
ruins of about a thousand of these small chff -houses, some of
which are very well preserved. These are the easiest to reach
of any of this class of ruins, being less than ten miles from
the raih-oad station and hotels. There are hundi*eds of other
canons in Ai-izona, New Mexico, and the lower corners of
Colorado and Utah presenting the same sort of cliff-houses ;
but most of them are in the wilderness, at great distances
from the railroad or any other convenience of ci\^lization.

In most of these houses there is little to be found. Furni-
ture they never had, and most of the implements have been
carried away by the removing inhabitants or by subsequent
roving Indians. The floors are one and two feet deep mth the
dust of ages, mingled with nut-sheUs and thorns brought in
by the rock-squirrels which are now the only tenants. Dig-
ging is made painful by a thousand thorn-stabs and by sti-
fling clouds of that flour-like dust ; but it is often rewarded.
All about are stre^vTi broken bits of prehistoric pottery, and
the veriest mummies of corn-cobs, shrunken bv centuries of
that dry air to the size of a finger and hardened almost to
flint. There are also occasional squash-stems, as wizened and
as indui*ated. Bv dio"f]:ino: to the bed-rock floor I have found
fine stone axes, beautiful agate arrow-points, the puzzling
discoidal stones, and even baskets of wcca fiber exactly like
the strange " plaques " made in Moqui to-day. The baskets

>
<

r
r

>
n

n
>

o
2:

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS. Ill

crumbled to dust soon after they were exposed to the air.
There are few other countries so diy that a basket of slender
vegetable threads would hold its patterns for four hundred
years or more under a foot of soil.

Between the small cliff-houses ah*eady described and the
cave-dwelhngs there is a very curious link — houses, or even
whole to^Tis, built in a natural cave. ^' Montezuma's Castle "
is such a one, and there are many, many others, of which
probably the best-known — tha,nks to Jackson's expedition —
are the fine nuns on the Mancos. Most of the important
ruins of the Canon de Tsay-ee and its tributaries. Canon
del Muerto and Monumental Canon, are also of this class.
These caves are not, like the Mammoth Cave, gi'eat subter-
ranean passages, but gi^eat hollows, generally like a huge
bowl set up on edge in the face of the cliff. They absolutely
protect the inclosed town (which is frequently one building
of enormous size) above, on both sides, and generally also
below. They are usually high up from the bottom of the
cliff, and between them and the foot is a precipitous ascent
which no enemy coidd scale if any resistance whatever were
made. Such towns could be captured only by sm^prise,
as we know that in very rare cases some were captured.
Some observant but uninformed travelers have been sadlv
misled by the regular, round ca\dties which are found in the
ground near these lofty pueblos, and have taken them for
water-tanks. Such a notion could arise only from entire
ignorance both of the history and the ethnology of the south-
west. These circular cavities are the remains of the estufas,

^^4''iU"

THE CLEVA I'JNTADA, UK "FAINTED CAVE

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS. 113

or sacred rooms of the men, which were generally made un-
derground. The roofs have long ago disappeared, and only
these pits are left. They never had anything more to do
with water than the fireplaces had; the Pueblo reservoirs
were something entirely different.

These huge houses were generally far from regular, for
the simple reason that there never was a "master-architect"
to control the structure. Every family built its part of the
tenement to suit itseK. There could be no " bossing " in such
things, for Indians are essentially tribal, and under that or-
ganization anything like a feudal authority is an absolute
impossibility. Still, the builders agreed fairly well as to the
general plan, and the great structure was sometimes very
svmmetrical.

The romantic Cueva Pintada,* which not a dozen white
men have ever seen, is a very good type of these caves on a
smaller scale, being only some fifty feet in diameter. It looks
very much like the bowl of a gigantic ladle set into the
cliff fifty feet above its foot. It contains several cave-dwell-
ings, but no houses of masonry, though these occur at other
points of the cliff.

To me the real cave-dweUings are the most interesting of
all these strange sorts of prehistoric ruins. They are prob-
ablv no older than the cliff -built houses ; as I have said, those
differences were not of time, or development, or tribe, but
merely of locality, but they seem so much farther from us.

* "Painted Cave," so called from the strange pictographs in reel
oclier which adorn its concave walls.

114 BOME STRANGE CORXEES OF OUR COUNTRY.

To see tliem carries one back to the times when our own
ancestors and all mankind dwelt in caves and wore only the
skins of ^yi\.d beasts ; those far, dim days when there was not
even iron, nor any other metal, and when fire itseK was new,
and the savage stomach was all the conscience and all the
brains that man knew he had.

The most extensive and wonderful cave-communities in
the world are in the great Cochiti upland, some fifty miles
northwest of Santa Fe. The journey is a very laborious one,
but by no means dangerous ; and if you can get my good
Indian compadre* Jose Hilario Montoya, now governor of
the pueblo of Cochiti, to guide you, you are apt to remember
it as the most interesting expedition of your life. The coun-
try itself is well worth a long journey to see, for it is one
of the wildest in North America. The enormous plateau is
split with canons from the mountains to \\\q deep-worn river;
and the mesas which separate them are long triangles which
break off in thousand-foot cliffs in the chasm of the Rio
Grande, their narrow i^oints looking like stupendous col-
umns, whence they get their Spanish name ^^ofr^ros. The
whole area is hke the foot of some unspeakable giant with
dozens of toes, set down beside the hoarse, gray river.

The w^hole region for thousands of square miles — like the
majority, indeed, of New Mexico — is volcanic. But here we
see less of the vast lava-flows so common in other j^arts of
the territory. Instead, there is an unprecedented deposit of
further-consumed matter from the forgotten fire-mountains.

* Chum.

MUMMY CAVE AiNU VILLAGE, CANUN DEL MUEKX'O, ARIZONA.

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS. 117

Wlien I was a boy in New England, I thought the ^^ floating
sfone^' with which I scrubbed my dingy fists was a gi-eat
curiosity ; but in the gorges of the Cochiti upland are cliffs
one thousand five hundred feet high, and miles long, of solid
pumice. There is enough " stone that will float" to take the
stains from all the boy hands in the world for all time.

In this noble and awesome wilderness several tribes of
Pueblo Indians dwelt in prehistoric times. It probably did
not take them long to learn that in such a country of soft
chff it was rather easier to dig one's house than to build it,
even when the carpenter had no better tools than a sharp
splinter of volcanic glass. The volcanoes did some good,
you see, in this land which they biu^ned dry forever ; for in
the same cliff they put the soft stone from which any one
could cut a house, and nuggets of the extremely hard glass
which the same eruption had made, wherefrom to chip the
prehistoric "knife."

In the superbly pictiu*esque canon of the Rito de los
Frigoles* is the largest of all \TJlages of caves, deserted
for more than four hundred years. Outside its unnumbered
cave-rooms were more rooms yet, of masonry of " bricks " cut
from the same cliff.

A few miles farther up the Rio Grande, not down in a canon
but on the top of the great plateau nearly two thousand feet
above the river, are two huge castle-like buttes of chalky tufa,
each some two hundred feet high. They stand one on each
side of the dividing gulf of the Santa Clara canon, and are

*^ "Brook of the beans."

118 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

known to the Indians respectively as the Pn-ye and the Shii-
fin-ne. They are the most easily accessible of the large cave-
villages of North America, being not over ten miles from
the httle railroad town of Espahola, on the Rio Grande some
thirty miles by rail from Santa Fe. Going np the lovely
Santa Clara canon, past the now inhabited pueblo of that
name, along the musical trout-brook to where an old mill once
stood among the tall pines, one can clamber up a trail on
either side of the canon to the plateau at the top, and thence
less than an hour's walk ^dll take one to either of these great
aboriginal honeycomb homes. The Pu-ye, which is on the
south side of the canon, is the largest, and has many hun-
dreds of cave-rooms. They are burrowed out everywhere in
the foot of the perpendicular white cliff, in tiers one above
the other to a height of three stories. The caves are small,
generally round rooms eight to twelve feet in diameter, with
arched ceilings and barely high enough to allow a man to
stand upright. The old smooth plaster on the walls remains
to this day, and so do the little portholes of windows, and
the niches for trinkets. In some places there is even a sec-
ond cave-room back of the first. Here, and at the Rito, the
estufas were carved out of the cliff, like the other rooms, but
larger. Upon the top of the cliff, and in an almost impreg-
nable position, are the ruins of a large square pueblo built of
blocks of tufa — e^ddently the fortress and retreat of the
dwellers in the caves in case of a very desperate attack.
Against any ordinary assault, the masonry houses "down-
stairs," so to speak, with their inner cave-rooms, were safe

•tpHMIMmifpw

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"a5is

" y

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,v^

s-^

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-'=^--*V

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THli WHlXt; HOUSE, CANON U^ TbAY-EE.

HOMES THAT WERE FORTS. 121

eiiongli. These houses of masonry at the foot of the cUff
have all fallen ; but in the rocks the mortises which held the
ends of their rafters are still plainly visible.

In this same wild region are the only gi^eat stone idols (or,
to speak more proi)erly, fetiches) in the United States — the
mountain lions of Cochiti. They are life-size, and carved from
the solid bed-rock on the top of two huge mesas. To this
day, the Indians of Cochiti before a hunt go to one of these
almost inaccessible spots, anoint the gi^eat stone heads, and
dance by night a mid dance which no white man has seen or
ever will see.

MONTEZUIVIA'S WEhU

AR southwest of Moqiii, and still in the

edge of the great Dry Land, is what I

am inclined to rank as the most remarkable

^^ area of its kind in the southwest — though

in this wonderland it is difficidt enough to

award that preeminence to any one localit}'.

At least in its combination of archaeologic

interest mth scenic beauty and with some

peerless natural curiosities, what may be

called the Mogollon watershed is one of the most startling

regions in America or in the world.

The Mogollones* are not a mountain system as Eastern
people understand the phrase. There is no great range, as
among the Appalachians and the Rockies. The ^' system " is
merely an enormous plateau, full three hundred miles across,
and of an average height above the sea greater than that of
any peak in the East : an apparently boundless plain, dotted
only here and there with its few lonely "hangers-on" or
"parasites" of peaks, — like the noble San Francisco triad

* Spanish. "The hangers-on."

MONTEZUMA'S WELL. 123

near Flagstaff, — which in that vast expanse seem scarce to
attain to the dignity of mounds. On the north this huge
table-land melts into hazy slopes ; but all along its southern
edge it breaks off by sudden and fearful cliffs into a country
of indescribable wildness. This great territory to the south,
an empire in size, but largely desert and almost entirely wil-
derness, has nevei-theless the largest number of considerable
streams of any equal area in the tliirsty southwest. The
Gila, the Rio Salado,* the Rio Verde, and others — though
they woidd be petty in the East, and though they are small
beside the Rio Grande and the Colorado — form, with their
tributaries, a more extensive water-system than is to be found
elsewhere in our arid lands. The Tontot Basin — scene of
one of the brave Crook's most brilliant campaigns against
the Apaches — is part of this wilderness. Though called a
" basin," there is nothing Ijowl-like in its appearance, even
as one sees down thousands of feet into it from the com-
manding " Rim " of the Mogollones. It is rather a vast chaos
of crags and peaks apparently rolled into it from the great
breaking-off place — the wreck left by forgotten waters of
what was once x^art of the Mogollon plateau.

About this Tonto Basin, which is some fifty miles across,
cluster many of the least-known yet greatest wonders of om*
countiy. KSouth are the noble ruins of Casa Grande, and all
the Gila Valley's precious relics of the prehistoric. The Salt
River Valley is one of the richest of fields for archteologic

* "Salt River," a fine stream whose waters are really salt at points
where great springs well up.
t '^ Tonto" is Spanish for fool.

124 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

research ; and the country of the Verde is nowise behind it.
All across that strange area of forbidding wildernesses,
tlireaded with small valleys that are green ivith the outposts
of ci\dlizationj are strewn the gi^ay monmnents of a civiliza-
tion that had worn out antiquity, and had perished and been
forgotten before ever a Caucasian foot had touched the New
World. The heirlooms of an unknown past are everywhere.
No man has ever counted the crumbling ruins of all those
strange little stone cities whose histoiy and whose very
names have gone from off the face of the earth as if they had
never been. Along every stream, near every sj^ring, on lofty
lookout-crags, and in the faces of savage cliffs, are the long-
deserted homes of that mysterious race — mysterious even
now that we know tlu^ir descendants. Thousands of these
homes are perfect yet, thousands no more changed from the
far, dim days when their swart dwellers lived and loved and
suffered and toiled there, than by the gathered dust of ages.
Very, very few Americans have ever at all explored tliis Last
Place in the World. It has not been a score of years known
to oiu' civilization. There is hardly ever a traveler to those
remote recesses ; and of the Americans who are settling the
pretty oases, a large proportion have never seen the wonders
within a few leagues of them. It is a far, toilsome land to
reach, and yet there is no reason why any young American
of average health should not visit this wonderland, which
is as much more thrilling than any popular American resort
as the White Mountains are more thi-ilUng than Coney Island
on a quiet day.

MONTEZUMA'S WELL. 125

Tlie way to reach tins strangely fascinating region is by
the Atlantic and Pacific Raili'oad to Prescott Junction, Ari-
zona, four hundred and twenty-eight miles west of Albu-
querque. Thence a little raih'oad covers the seventy miles
to Prescott j and from Prescott one goes by the mail-buck-
board or by private conveyance to Camp Verde, forty-three
miles. Camp Verde is the best headquarters for any who
would explore the marvelous country about it. Comfortable
accommodations are there j and there can be procured the
needful horses — for thenceforward horseback travel is far
preferable, even when not absolutely necessary. There is no
danger whatever nowadays. The few settlers are intelligent,
law-abiding people, among whom the traveler fares very
comfortably.

The Verde* Valley is itseK fuh of interest ; and so are all
its half-vaUey, half -canon tributaries — Oak Creek, Beaver
Creek, Clear Creek, Fossil Creek, and the rest. Away to the
north, over the purple rim-rock of the MogoUones, peer the
white peaks of the San Francisco range (one can also come
to the Verde from Flagstaff, by a rough but interesting
eighty-mile ride overland). All about the vaUey are mesas, j
and cliffs so tall, so strange in form and color, so rent by
shadowy canons as to seem faMy uneartlily. And follow
whatever canon or cliff you \vt11, you shall find ever^^iere
more of these strange ruins. They are so many himdi'eds,

* Rio Verde, "Green River," — so called from the verdure of its val-
ley, which is in such contrast with its weird surroundings.
t Table-lands.

126 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

MONTEZUMA S WELL.

that while all are of deep interest I can here describe only
the more striking t}^3es.

Beaver Creek enters the Rio Verde about a mile above the
now abandoned fort. Its canon is by no means a large one,
though it has some fine points. A long and rocky twelve
miles up Beaver, past smiling little farms of to-day that have
usurped the very soil of fields whose tilling had been forgot-

MONTEZUMA'S WELL. 127

ten when history was new, brings one to a wonder which is
not " the greatest of its kind/' but the only. There is, I be-
lieve, nothing else like it in the world.

It has been named — by the class which has pitted the
southwest with misnomers — "Montezuma's Well." It is
hardly a well, — though an exact term is difficult to find, — and
Montezuma* never had anything to do mth it ; but it is none
the less wonderful under its misfit name. There is a legend
(of late invention) tliat Montezuma, after being conquered
by Cortez, threw his incalculable treasure into tliis safest of
hiding-places ; but that is all a myth, since Montezuma had
no treasures, and in any event could hardly have brought
the fabled tons of gold across two thousand miles of desert
to this " well," even if he had ever stirred outside the pueblo
of Mexico after the Spaniards came — as he never did. But
as one looks into the awesome abyss, it is almost easy to for-
get history and believe anything.

At this point, Beaver Creek has eaten away the side of a
rounded hill of stone which rises more than one hundred feet
above it, and now washes the foot of a sheer cliff of striking
picturesqueness. I can half imagine the feelings of the fii^st
white man who ever climbed that hill. Its outer show gives
no greater promise of interest than do ten thousand other
elevations in the southwest j but as one reaches a flat shoul-
der of the hill, one gets a first glimpse of a dark rift in the
floor-like rock, and in a moment more stands upon the brink

* The war-chief of an ancient league of Mexican Indians, and not
"Emperor of Mexico," as ill-informed historians assert.

128 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

of an absolutely new experience. There is a vast, sheer well,
apparently as cii'cnlar as that peculiar rock could be broken by
design, with sides of cliffs, and with a gloomy, mysterious lake
at the bottom. The diameter of this basin approximates two
hundred yards ; and its depth from brink of cliff to surface
of water is some eighty feet. One does not realize the dis-
tance across until a powerful thrower tries to hurl a pebble
to the farther wall. I l;)elieve that no one has succeeded in
throwing past the middle of the lake. At fii^st sight one in-
variably takes this remarkable ca\dty to be the crater of an
extinct volcano, like that in the Zuhi plains ah^eady referred
to ; but a study of the unburnt limestone makes one give up
that theory. The well is a huge ^'sink" of the horizontal
strata in one particular undermined spot, the loosened circle
of rock dropping forever from sight into a terrible subter-
ranean abyss which was doubtless hollowed out by the ac-
tion of springs far down in the lime-rock. As to the depth
of that gruesome, black lake, there is not yet knowledge. I
am assured that a sounding-hue has been sent down three
hundred and eighty feet, in a vain attempt to find bottom j
and that is easily credible. Toss a large stone into that mid-
night muTor, and for an hour the bubbles will struggle shiv-
ering up from its unknown depths.

The waters do not lave the foot of a pei'pendicular cliff all
around the sides of that fantastic well. The unfathomed
" slump " is in the center, and is separated from the \dsible
walls bv a naiTOw, submers-ed rim. One can wade out a few
feet in knee-deep water, — if one have the courage in that

MONTEZUMA'S WELL. 129

''creepy" place, — and then, suddenly, as walking from a
parapet, step off into the bottomless. Between this water-
covered rim and the foot of the cliff is, in most places, a wild
jumljle of enormous square blocks, fallen successively from
the precipices and lodged here before they could tumble into
the lower depths.

There are two places where the cHff can be descended from
toj) to watei-'s edge. Elsewhere it is inaccessible. Its dark,
stained face, spht by peculiar cleavage into the semblance
of giant walls, frowTis down upon its frowning image in that
dark mirror. The whole scene is one of utter grimness.
Even the eternal blue of an Arizona sky, even the rare fleecy
clouds, seem mocked and cTianged in that deep reflection.

Walking around the fissui-ed brink of the well eastward,
we become suddenly aware of a new interest — the presence
of a human Past. Next the creek, the side of the well is
nearly gone. Only a narrow, high wall of rock, perhaps one
hundred feet tlu'ough at the base, less than a score at the top,
remains to keep the well a well. On one side of this thin
rim gapes the abyss of the well ; on the other the abyss to
the creek. Upon this wall — leaving scarce room to step be-
tween them and the brink of the well, and precariously cling-
ing down the steep slope to the edge of the cliff that over-
hangs the creek — are the tousled ruins of a strong stone
building of many rooms, the t\T3ical fort-home of the ancient
Pueblos. Its walls are still, in places, six to eight feet high ;
and the student clearly makes out that the building was of
two and three stories. It was a perfect defense to the In-

130 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

dians who erected it ; and was not only safe itself on that
commanding perch, bnt protected the approach to the well.
This is the only town I know of that was ever bnilded npon
a natiu-al bridge; as some houses in this same region are
probably the only ones placed under such a curiosity.

Leading from the center of this fort-house, the only easy
trail descends into the well ; and it is so steep that no foe
could prosper on it in the face of any opposition. This brings
us to a tiny green bench six or eight feet above the level of
the dark lake, where two young sycamores and a few live-oak
bushes guard a black cavity in the overhanging cliff. We
look across the dark waters to the western wall, and are
startled to see in its face a perfect cliff-house, j)erclied where
the eagle might l)uild his nest. A strange eerie for a home,
surely ! There, on a dizzy little shelf, overhung by a huge
flat rock Avhich roofs it, stands this two-roomed type of the
human dwelling in the old danger-days. From its window-
hole a babe might lean out until he saw his dimpled image
in the somber sheet below. Only at one end of the house,
where a difficult trail comes up, is there room on the sheK
for a dozen men to stand. In front, and at its north end, a
goat could scarce find footing. The roof and floor and rear
wall are of the soHd chff, the other thi'ee walls of stone ma-
sonry, perfect and unbroken still. A few rods along the
face of the rock to the north is another cliff-dweUing not so
large nor so well preserved ; and farther yet is another. It
is fairly appalling to look at those dizzy nests and remember
that they were homes ! What eagle-race was this whose war-

MONTEZUMA'S WELL. 131

riors strung tlieir bows, and whose women w^ove their neat
cotton tunics, and whose naked babes rolled and laughed in
such ^ild lookouts — the scowling cliif above, the deadly lake
so far below ! Or, rather, what grim times were those when
farmers had to dwell thus to escape the cruel obsidian knife*
and war-club of the merciless wandering savage !

But if we tiu'n to the sycamore at our back, there is yet
more of human interest. Behind the gray debris of the chff
gapes the low-arched mouth of a broad cave. It is a weird
place to enter, under tons that tlireaten to fall at a breath ;
but there have been others here before us. As the eye grows
wonted to the gloom, it makes out a flat surface beyond.
There, forty feet back from the mouth, a strong stone wall
stretches across the cave ; and about in its center is one of
the tinv doors that were characteristic of the southwest when
a doorway big enough to let in a whole Apache at a time was
unsafe. So the fort-house balanced on the cliff -rim between
two abysses and the houses nestled in crannies of the bald
precipice were not enough — they must build far in the very
caves ! That wall shuts off a large, low, dark room. Beyond
is another, darker and safer, and so on. To our left is an-
other wall in the front of another branch of the cave j and
in that wall is a little token from the dead past. WHien I went
there in June, 1891, my flash-light failed, and I lit a dry
entrana\ to explore during the hour it would take the lens

* The only knives in those days were sharp-edged flakes of obsidian
(volcanic glass) and other stone.

i The buckhorn-cactus, which was the prehistoric candle.

132 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

to study out part of the cave in that gloom. Aud suddenly
the unaccustomed tears came in my eyes ; for on the flint}"
mortar of that strange wall was a print made when that
mortar was fresh adobe mud, at least five hundred years
ago, maybe several thousands, — the perfect imprint of a
baby's chubl)y hand. And of that child, whose mud auto-
gi'aph has lasted perhaps as long as Caesar's fame, who may
have ^Tought as deep impression on the history of his race
as Caesar on the world's, we know no more than that careless
hand-print, nor ever shall know.

This left-hand cave is particularly full of interest, and is
probal^ly the best remaining example of this class of home-
making by the so-called " Cliff-dwellers." With its mmierous
windings and branches, it is hundreds of feet in length ; and
its rooms, formed by cross- walls of masonry, extend far into
the heart of the hill, and directl}" under the foi-t-house. It
seems to have been fitted for the last retreat of the people in
case the fortress and tlie cliff -houses were captm'ed by an
enemy. It was well stored Tvdtli corn, whose mummied cobs
are still there; and — equally important — it had al)undant
water. The well seems to have no outlet — the only token of
one \dsible from within being a little rift in the water-mosses
just in fi'ont of the caves. But in fact there is a mysterious
channel far down under the cliff, wherebv the waters of the
lake escape to the creek. In exploring the main cave one
hears the sound of running water, and presently finds a place
where one may di^) a drink through a hole in the limestone
floor of a subterranean room. The course of this lonelv little

MONTEZmiA'S WEhl,. 133

brook can be traced for some distance tlirougli the cave, be-
low whose floor it runs. Here and there in the rooms are
lava hand-mills and battered stone hammers, and other relics
of the forgotten people.

Retni-ning to the creek at the foot of the hill, and follow-
ing the onter cliff np-stream a few hundred feet, we come to a
very picturesque spot under a fine httle precipice whose foot
is guarded by stately sycamores. Here is the outlet of the
subterranean stream from the well. From a little hole in the
very base of the cliff the glad rivulet rolls out into the light
of day, and tumbles heels over head down a Uttle ledge to a
pretty pool of the creek.

The water of the well is alwavs warmish, and in muter a
little cloud of vapor hovers over the outlet. Between the
cliff and the creek is pinched an irrigating-ditch, which car-
ries the waters of the well liaK a mile south to irrigate the
ranch of a small farmer. Probably no other man waters his
garden from so strange a soiu'ce.

XI.

montezuivia's castle.

OMEWHAT more than half-way back from
Montezuma's Well to Camp Verde, but off the
A\dnding road, is another curiosity, only less
important, known as "Montezuma's Castle."
It is the best remaining specimen of what we
may call the cave-puelAo — that is, a Pueblo Indian "com-
munity-house" and fortress, built in a natural cave. The
oft-pictured ruins in the Mancos canon are insignificant
beside it.

Here the tiny valley of Beaver Creek is very attractive.
The long slope from the south bank lets us look far up to-
ward the black rim of the Mogollones, and across the smil-
ing Verde Valley to the fine range be^^ond. On the north
bank towers a noble limestone cliff, two hundred feet high,
beautifully w^hite and beautifully eroded. In its perpendicu-
lar front, half-way up, is a huge, circidar natural ca\dty, very
much like a giant basin tilted on edge ; and therein stands
the noble pile of " Montezuma's Castle." A castle it truly
looks, as you may see from the illustration — and a much
finer ruin than many that people rush abroad to see, along

l,v-^^*-'^?'^^'"' •*'

'i-^V. -.<--»*

>'^iSO

^
'^

L'.

f)e-'S

Montezuma's castle," seen from beaver creek.

MONTEZUMA'S CASTLE. 137

the historic Rhine. The form of the successive limestone
ledges upon which it is built led the aboriginal builders to
give it a shape luiique among its kind.

It is one of the most pretentious of the Pueblo ruins, as it
is the most imposing, though there are many hmidreds that
are larger.

From the clear, still stream, hemmed in l)y giant sycamores
that have doubtless gi-o^\Ti only since that strange, gray nun
was deserted, the foot of the cliff is some three hundred feet
away. The lowest foundation of the castle is over eighty feet
above the creek ; and from corner-stone to crest the building
towers fifty feet. It is five stories taU, over sixty feet front
in its widest part, and built in the form of a crescent. It
contains twenty-five rooms of masonry; and there are, be-
sides, many cave-chambers below and at each side of it —
small natural gi^ottos neatly walled in front and with wee
doors The timbers of the castle are stiU in excellent pre-
servation,— a durability imj)ossible to wood in any other cli-
mate,— and some still bear the clear marks of the stone axes
with which they were cut. The rafter-ends outside the waUs
were " trimmed " by l)urning them off close. The roofs and
floors of reed thatch and adobe mud are still perfect except
in two or three rooms ; and traces of the last hearth-fire that
cooked the last meal, dim centuries ago, are still there. In-
deed, there are even a few relics of the meal itself — corn,
dried cactus-pulp, and the Kke.

The fifth story is nowhere visible from below, since it
stands far back upon the roof of the fom-th and under the

138 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

hanging rock. In front it has a spacious veranda, formed
by the roof of the fourth story, and protected by a ^Darapet
which the picture shows with its central gateway to which a
ladder once gave access. It is only the upper story which
can be reached bv an outside ladder — aU the others were
accessible only through tiny hatchways in the roofs of those
below. So deep is the gi'eat uptilted bowl in which the castle
stands, so overhanging the wild brow of cliff above, that
the sun has never shone upon the two topmost stories.

There is but one way to get to the castle, and that is by
the horizontal ledges below. These rise one above the other
(like a series of shelves, not like steps), ten to fourteen feet
apart, and fairly overhang. The aborigines had first to build
strong ladders, and lay them from ledge to ledge ; and then
up that dizz}^ footing they canned upon their backs the un-
counted tons of stones and mortar and timbers to build that
great edifice. What do you imagine an American architect
would say, if called upon to plan for a stone mansion in such
a place ? The original ladders have long ago disappeared ;
and so have the modern ones once put there by a scientist at
the fort. I had to climb to the castle by a craz}^ little frame
of sycamore branches, dragging it after me from ledge to
ledge, and sometimes lashing it to knobs of rock to keep it
from tumbling backward doA\^i the cliff. It was a very
ticklish ascent, and gave full understanding how able were
the l)uilders, and how secure the}^ were when they had re-
treated to this high-perched fortress and pulled up their lad-
ders— as they undoubtedly did every night. A monkey

iiiiiiiiipfr:*,iiBI

iilil-

"Montezuma's castle," from the foot of the cliff.

r ♦* '^

MONTEZUMA'S CASTLE. 141

could not scale the rock ; aud the cliff perfectly protects the
castle above and on each side. Nothing short of modern
weapons could possibly affect this lofty citadel.

Down in the valley at its feet — as below Montezuma's
Well and the hundreds of other prehistoric dwellings in the
canon of Beaver — are still traces of the little fields and of
the acequias * that watered them. Even in those far days the
Pueblos were patient, industrious, home-loving farmers, but
harassed eternally by wily and merciless savages — a fact
which we have to thank for the noblest monuments in our
new-old land.

* The characteristic irrigating-ditches of the southwest.

XII.

THE GREATEST NATURAL BRIDGE ON EARTH.

^OU all kiiow of the Natm-al Bridge in Virginia,
and perhaps have lieard how the th'st and great-
est president of the United States, in the ath-
letic vigor of his youth, eUnihed and carved his
name high on its chff, A very handsome and
picturesque spot it is, too ; hut if a score of it were thrown
together side by side, they would not begin to make one of
the Natural Bridge of which I am going to tell you — one in
the western edge of the Tonto Basin, Arizona, in the same
general region as Montezuma's WeU and Castle, but even
less known than they.

The Natiu'al Bridge of Pine Creek, Arizona, is to the world's
natm-al bridges what the Grand Canon of the Colorado is to
the world's chasms — the gi*eatest, the grandest, the most be-
w^ildering. It is truly entitled to rank with the great natm^al
wonders of the earth — as its baby brother in Virginia is not.
Its grandenr is equally indescribable by artist and by writer
— its vastness, and the peculiarities of its "architecture,"
make it one of the most difficult objects at which camera
was ever leveled. No photograph can give mpre than a hint

THE GREATEST NATURAL BRIDGE ON EARTH. 143

of its appalling majesty, no combination of photographs
more than hints. There are photographs which do approxi-
mate justice to bits of the Grand Canon, the Yosemite, the
Yellowstone, the Redwoods, Niagara * ; there never will be
of the Natiu'al Bridge of Ai'izona — for reasons which yon
will understand later. But perhaps with words and pictures
I can say enough to lead you some time to see for yourself
this marvelous spot.

From Camp Verde the Natural Bridge lies a long, hard
day's ride to the southeast. There is a government road — a
very good one for that rough country — to Pine, so one may
go by wagon all but five miles of the way. This road is fif-
teen miles longer to Pine than the rough and indistinct mail-
trail of thirty-eight miles, which a stranger should not at-
tempt to foUow mthout a guide, and a weak traveler should
not think of at all. About midway, this trail crosses the tre-
mendous gorge of Fossil Creek — do^Ti and up pitches that
try the best legs and lungs — and here is a very interesting
spot. In the north side of Fossil Creek Canon, close to the
trail and in plain sight from it, are lonely httle cave-houses
that look down the sheer cUffs to the still pools below. Sev-
eral miles down-stream there is a fort-house, also. Where
the trail crosses the canon there is no running water except
in the rainy season ; but a few hundred yards further down
are the great springs. Like hundreds of other springs in the
west, they are so impregnated with mineral that they are

* Wliose majestic Indian name, Nee-ali-guh-rah, is quite lost in om:
flat corruption Nigh-dgg-ara.

144 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

constautly building great round basins for themselves, and
for a long distance flow down over bowl after bowl. But
unlike other springs, those of Fossil Creek build theii' basins
of what seems crude Mexican on\^. The fact that these
waters quickly coat twigs or other articles with layers of this
beautiful mineral gives rise to the name of Fossil — almost
as odd a misnomer as has the " Petrified Spring " of which a
New Mexico lady talks.

Passing through lonely Strawberry Valley, ^^dtli its log
farm-houses among prehistoric ruins, one comes presently
over the last divide into the extreme western edge of the
Tonto Basin, and down a steep canon to the stiff little Mor-
mon settlement of Pine, on the dry creek of the same name.
From there to the Natural Bridge — five miles down-stream
— there is no road at all, and the trail is very rough. But
its reward waits at the end. Leaving the creek altogether
and taking to the hills, we wind among the giant pines, then
across a wild, lava-stre^vTi mesa, and suddenly come upon
the brink of a striking canon fifteen hundred feet deep. Its
west wall is an unspeakably savage jumble of red granite
crags ; the east side a wooded, but in most places impassably
steep bluff. The creek has split thi'ough the ruddy granite
to our right a wild, narrow portal, below which widens an
almost circular httle valley, half a mile across. Below this
the canon pinches again, and winds away by grim gorges to
where the blue Mazatzals bar the horizon.

In the wee oasis at oiu' feet there is as yet no sign of a
natural bridge, nor of an}^ other colossal wonder. There is

LOOKING THROUGH THE SOUTH ARCH OF THE GREATEST NATURAL BRIDGE.

\
\

.\5

-5' w^

THE GREATEST NATURAL BRIDGE ON EARTH. 147

a clearing amid the dense chapaiTal — a clearing with tiny
house and barn, and rows of fruit trees, and fields of corn
and alfalfa. They are thirteen hundi-ed feet below us.
Clambering down the steep and sinuous trail, among the
chapparo and the huge flowering columns of the maguey, we
come quite out of breath to the little cottage It is a lovely
spot, bowered in vines and flowers, with pretty walks and
arbors by wliich ripples the clear brook from a big spring at
the very door. A straight, thick-chested man, with twinkling
eyes and long gray haii', is making sham battle with a big-
rooster, while a cat blinks at them from the bunk on the
porch. These are the only inhabitants of this enchanted
valley — old " Dave " Go wan, the hermit, and his two mateless
pets. A quaint, sincere, large-hearted old man is he who has
wrought this little paradise from utter wilderness by force of
the ax. Only those who have had it to do can faintly con-
ceive the fearful toil of clearing off these semi-tropic jungles.
But the result gives the hermit just pride. His homestead
of one hundred and sixty acres contains a f armlet which is
not only as pretty as may be found, but unique in the whole
world.

It is well to have this capable guide, for there is nowhere
an equal area wherein a guide is more necessary. Think
of Gowan himself, famihar for years with his strange farm,
being lost for three days mthin a hundred yards of his house.
That sounds strange, but it is true.

The old Scotchman is very tacitui'n at first, like all who
have reaUy learned the lessons of out-of-doors, but prom2:)tly

148 SQME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

accedes to a request to be sliown his bridge. He leads the
way out under his little bower of clematis, down the terraced
\dneyard, along the corn-field, and into the pretty young or-
chard of peach and apricot. Still no token of what we seek ;
and we begin to wonder if a bridge so easily hidden can be
so very big after all. There is even no sign of a stream.

And on a sudden, between the very trees, we stand over a
little water-worn hole and peer dovm. into space. ^Ve are on
the bridge now ! The orchard is on the bridge ! Do you know
of any other fruit-trees that gi'ow in so strange a garden ?
Of any other two-storied farm ? The rock of the bridge is
at this one point less than ten feet thick ; and this odd little
two-foot peep-hole, like a l)roken plank in the giant floor,
was cut through by water.

''Wait," chuckles the hermit, his eyes twinkling at our
wonder ; " wait ! " And he leads us a few rods onward, till
we stand beside an old juniper on the very brink of a terrific
gorge. We are upon the South Arch of the bridge, dizzily
above the clear, noisy stream, looking dowTi the savage canon
in whose wilds its silver thread is straightway lost to view.
The ''floor" of the bridge here, as we shall also find it at the
North Ai'ch, has broken back and back toward its center, so
that a bird's-eye \iew shows at each side of the bridge a hori-
zontal arch. A ground plan of the valley would look some-
thing like the sketch on the opposite page.

Circling south along the southeast " pier," we start down a
rugged, difficult, and at times dangerous trail. A projecting
crag of the pier — destined to be a great obstacle, later, in

THE GREATEST NATURAL BRIDGE ON EARTH. 149

our photographic attempts — shuts the bridge from view till
we near the bottom of the gorge, and then it bursts upon us
in sudden wonder. The hand of man never reared such an
arch, nor ever shall rear, as the patient springs have gnawed
here from eternal rock. Dark and stern, and fairly crushing

•j. rliffS '500 f^^Jt

» t e Mill, ,',iiii^;/iiiiw/;. ^///^ ^ r

ROUGH GROUND-PLAN OF GOWAN'S VALLEY. THE WHOLE IRREGULAR CIRCLE IS THE
NEARLY LEVEL LIMESTONE BENCH WHICH IS OCCUPIED BY THE FARM.

in its immensity, towers that terrific arch of rounded lime-
stone. The gorge is wild beyond telling, choked with giant
boulders and somber evergreens and bristling cacti until it
comes to the very jaws of that grim gateway, and there even
vegetation seems to shrink back in awe. Now one begins to

150 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

appreciate the magnitude of tlie bridge, a part of whose top
holds a five-acre orchard. In its eternal shadow is room for
an army.

The South Arch, to which we have thns come, is the larger
and in some respects the more imposing. From its top to
the surface of the water is two hundred feet, and the pools
are very deep. The span of the archway is over two hundred
feet as we see it now from without ; but we shall soon find
it to be really very much greater. The groined limestone is
smoothly rounded^ and the fanciful waters seem to have
had architectural training — for the roof is wonderfully
rounded into three stupendous domes, each flanked by noble
flying buttresses of startling spnmetry. A photograph of
that three-domed roof would be a treasure ; but it is among
the many impossibilities of this baffling place.

CUmbing up the water- worn l)ed-rock into the cool dusk of
the bridge — for the sun has never seen one-tenth of the way
through this vast tunnel — we stand under the first dome.
Away up to our left, on the west side of the stream, there is
a shelf at the top of an impressive wall ; and mounting by
ledges and a tall ladder, we find this little shelf to be an enor-
mous level floor, running back three hundred feet west. Here,
then, we see the extreme span of the bridge, over five hundred
feet ; and here we find the central pier — a stupendous column
from this floor to the vaulted roof, a column more than one
hundred feet in circumference. How strange that the blind
waters which ate out all the rest of this vast chamber should
have left that one necessary pillar to support the roof !

pill

ANOTHER VIEW OF THE GREAT BRIDGE.

THE GREATEST NATURAL BRIDGE ON EARTH. 153

About midway of the stream's com-se under the l^ridge is
the Great Basin — a pool which would be a wonder anywhere.
It is a solid rock bowl, some seventy-five feet in diameter and
ninety in depth ; and so transparent that a white stone rolled
down the strange natural trough over one hundred feet long
in the side of the basin can be seen in all its bubbling course
to the far bottom of that chilly pool. Fifty of the beautiful
^' Basin " in the Franconia Notch would not make one of this 5
and the noble ^'Pool" itself, in the same mountain para-
dise, does not match it. The clear stream pours into this
basin in a white fall of thirty feet j but, dwarfed by its giant
company, the fall seems petty.

The North Ai-ch — to which we may come under the bridge
by a ticklish clim)) around the Great Basin — is less regular
but not less picturesque than the South Arch. It is more
rugged in contour, and its buttresses, instead of being
smooth, are wrought in fantastic figures, while strange sta-
lactites fringe its top and sides.

And now for the comparative magnitude of this greatest
of natural bridges. Its actual span is over five hundred feet
— that is, about five times the span of the Virginia Bridge.
Its height from floor of bridge to surface of water is forty
feet less than its small brother's j but to the bottom of
erosion — the proper measurement, of course — it is fifty
feet greater. But in its breadth — that is, measurement \vp
and down stream — it is over six liundreil feet, or more than
twelve times as wide as the Virginia Bridge ! So you see
one could carve, from this almost unknown wonder, some-

154: SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

thing like sixiij bridges, each equal to the greatest cui'iosity
of Virginia !

In these vast proportions lies the impossibility of ade-
quately photographing this bridge. There is no point from
which the eye can take it in at once. It is a wonder-book which
must be turned leaf by leaf. Miles of walking are necessary
before one really understands. From the bed of the stream
half the dignity of the arch is lost behind the boulders, if one
gets off far enough to command the opening at a glance. If
near enough for an unobstructed view, then the vast arch so
overshadows us that neither eye nor lens can gi*asp it all.
And the wing-cliff which projects from the southeast pier —
as you may see in the chief pictiu'e of the South Ai*ch —
makes it almost inqiossible to find a point, at sufficient dis-
tance for photographing, whence one can see clear through
the bridge. " Can't be done ! " reiterated the old hermit.
"Been lots of professionals here from Phoenix with their
machines, and all they coidd get was pictures that look like
caves. You can't show through with a picture, to prove it 's
a bridge, at all ! "

But it can be done ; and being bound to show you all that
photography can possibly show of this wonder, I did it. It
cost about twenty-four soHd hours of painful and perilous
climbing and reconnoissance, a good deal of blood-tribute
to sharp rocks and savage cactus — to whose inhospitable
thorns it was necessary to cling to get footing on some of
those precipices — and the camera did its work from some of
the dizziest perches that tripod ever had ; but here are the

THE GREATEST NATURAL BRIDGE ON EARTH. 155

pictui'es which do " show tliroug*h that it 's a bridge." When
you look at the httle far cu'cle of Hght, and realize that it is
two hundi'ed feet in diameter, you will begin to feel the
distance from South Ai'ch to North Ai'ch under that terrific
rock roof.

Following up the wild bottom of the canon from the North
Arch^ around gigantic boulders and under hanging cliffs, we
find many other interesting things. Du'ectly we come to
'^ The First Tree" — one of the very largest sycamores in the
United States. The canon here is strangely pictm-esque.
Its west wall is fifteen hundred feet high, a wilderness of
sphntered red granite, not perpendicular, but absolutely un-
scalable. The east wall is of gray limestone, perpendicular,
often overhanging, but nowhere over two hundred feet high.
Gowan's farm comes to the verv trees that lean over its
brink, and he now shows us the " lower story " of his unique
homestead. Not only does his orchard stand two hundred
feet in air, with room beneath for some of the largest build-
ings in America, but the rest of his farm is as " up-stairs,"
though in a different way. This fantastic east wall of the
canon is fairly honeycombed with caves, whose ghostly cham-
bers, peopled with white visions in stone, run back un-
known miles. His whole farm, his very house, is undermined
by them. The old hermit has made many journeys of ex-
ploration in these caves, but has merely learned the begin-
ning of their labvt'inth. It was in one of these subterranean
tours that he was lost. His torches gave out, food he had
none, and for three days he faced a frightful death — their,

156 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

close to his own cottage, perhaps not a hundred feet from it.
From several of these caves issue line rivulets, that coat with
limestone whatever comes in their way. Some time ago
Gowan's pet pig fell off the edge of the up-stairs farm, and
there it lies to-day in a clear pool, pink- white as the freshest
pork, but fast turning into the most durable. It is an odd
fact that Pine Creek as a visible stream starts at and depends
upon Gowan's farm. It is nominally Piue Creek for ten
miles above, but is only a dry wash, except in time of rains ;
but the strong, clear stream which pours from under the
South Ai'ch of the bridge is large and permanent.

How was the bridge built ? By the same peerless architect
that builded the greatest wonders of the earth — the architect
of the Grand Canon and the Yellowstone, and the Yosemite
— by Water. It seems probable that Gowan's little round
vaUey was once a lake, dammed by ledges at the south end
which have since disappeared. The rich alluvial soil found
only here would indicate that. At all events, here was once
a great round blanket of limestone, many hundred feet thick,
laid down flat upon the giant lap of the gi^anite. From un-
known storage-caverns of the MogoUon watershed subterra-
nean passages led hither, and through them flowed strong
spriugs. In time the water — whether stored in a lake upon
this limestone bench, or merely flowing over — began to bur-
row " short cuts " through it, as water always will in Ume-
rock. As the west side of the valley was lowest, there toiled
the greatest throng of water-workmen. Perhaps it was a
Little fellow no bigger than your fist who first made passage

THE GREATEST NATURAL BRIDGE ON EARTH. 159

for himself through what is now the Natural Bridge. And
he called his brother waters, and they crowded in after him ;
and each as he passed gnawed with his soft but tii*eless teeth
at the stone, and carried his mouthful of lime-dust off do^oi
the valley, chuckling as he ran. And slowly so the tunnel
grew. If men were there then, the life of generations would
have seen no change ; but time is the most abundant thing
in creation (except for us) ; and time was there, and now the
dark winding burrow of a rivulet has become one of the
noblest passage-ways on earth. The hermit who owns it was
born in Scotland, but has grown American in every fiber.
He refuses to make a mercenary income from his wonder-
land. It is free for aU to see — and his kindly help with it.
He wants to dedicate his homestead to the government, and
to have it accepted, made accessible, and cared for as a na-
tional park — as it is most worthy to be.

I often wonder if there were not great poets among the
Indians of the old days. Indeed, I am sure there must have
been in the race which invented the poetry of the folk-lore
I have gathered among them. And when one sees amid
what noblest works of Nature they Lived in those days, one
may well beUeve that bronze Homers are buried in that
buried past. Science has at last learned that there can be
no real study of history without consideration of physical
geography as its chief factor. A race grows into character
according to the country it inhabits ; and the utmost savage
would grow (in centuries) to be a different man when he had
removed from the duU plains to the Grand Canon, the San

160 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

Juan, Acoma, the Verde cliffs, tlie Tonto Basin, or any other
spot where the Pueblos lived five hundi-ed years ago. For
here at the bridge they were, too. They tilled Gowan's two-
story farm, and dwelt in the caves of his basement, perhaps
while his ancestors were yet naked savages in old Scotia.
Theu' rude implements and fabrics are everj^where; and
among many valuable rehcs from that region I brought
home a fetich* which is quite priceless — a symbol of the
eagle holding a rattlesnake in his talons, carved from an un-
knoTVTi stone which baffles the file. Fancy the Pueblo boys
and gu'ls of the Dark Ages with those giant domes of the
Natural Bridge for a roof to their play-gi'ound, the Great
Basin for a ^' swimming-hole," and miles of stalactite caves
to play hide-and-seek in !

There are countless minor natural bridges in the south-
west, including a very noble one in the labyrinthine cUffs of
Acoma. There is a curious natui-al bridge near Fort Defi-
ance, N. M. It has an arch of only about sixty feet, but is
remarkable because it was carved not by water but by sand-
laden muds, as are some of the most beautiful and fantastic
erosions of the dry southwest.

* Xot an idol, but the sacred sjnnbol of some divine Power.

ThicKness

THE EAGLE FETICH, ACTUAL SIZE.

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SOME LEAVES FROM THE STONE AUTOGRAPH-ALBUM.

XIII.

THE STONE AUTO GRAPH- ALBU^I.

AM not SO sure about the present generation —
for these years on the frontier have given me
little chance to know the new boys as well as
an oldish boy would like to — but with most
young Americans of my day the autograph-
album was a cherished institution. It was a very pretty
habit, too, and a wise one, thus to press a flower from each
young friendship. Not that the autographs were always wise
— how weU I remember the boys who ^' tried to be funny/'
and the girls who were dolefuUy sentimental, and the bud-
ding geniuses who tottered under thoughts palpably too
heavy for the unformed handwi'iting, in the thumbed red
morocco books of twenty years ago ! But the older those
grimy albums grow, the more fully I feel that they were
worth while, and that it is a pity we do not keep more of
the boy '' greenness " into the later years ; for there are more
plants than the inanimate ones whose life is dearest and
most fragrant while they are green.

I shall never forget the supreme moments when the good
gray Longfellow and cheerful, rheumatic " Mrs. Partington "

164 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

clii'istened my last aiitograph-albnin with tlieii' names, which
were for a long time my chief est treasures — until that dear-
est hero of boyhood, Captain Ma^Tie Reid, echpsed them all.
That seems very far back ; but the crowded years between,
Tvith all then* adventures and dangers, have brought no
keener joys. And last summer the bojdsh triumph came
back clear and strong as ever, when I stood under one of the
noblest cliffs in America and read in its vast stone pages the
autographs of some of the gi*eat fii*st heroes of the New
World.

'^The Stone Autogi'a2:)h-^Vlbum " lies in a remote and al-
most unknown corner of western New Mexico. It is fifty
miles southwest of the Atlantic and Pacific Raih*oad from
Grant's Station, and can be reached only by long drives
through lonely but picturesque canons and gi-eat pine forests.
It is but four miles from the half-dozen Mexican houses of
Las Tiaajas, where the traveler can find food and shelter.
The journey from the raili^oad is not dangerous, and need
not be uncomfortal)le ; but one shoidd be careful to secure
good horses and a guide, for the roads are not like those of
the East.

Climbing and descending the long slopes of the Zuiii range,
we emerge at last from the forest to a great plateau, its
southeastern rim crowded ^^ith extinct volcanoes, whose som-
ber cones explain the gi'iin, black leagues of lava-flows that
stretch everywhere. To the southwest the plateau dips into
a handsome valley, guarded on the north by the wilderness
of pines, and on the south by a long Hue of those superb

THE STONE AUTOGRAPH-ALBUM. 165

mesas of many-colored sandstone which are among the char-
acteristic beauties of the southwest. Through this valley ran
an ancient and historic road — now hard to trace, for so
many generations has it been abandoned — from Zuhi to the
Rio Grande. Many of you have already heard something of
Zuhi, that strange gray pyramid of the adobe homes of fifteen
hundi-ed Pueblo Indians. It is what is left of the famous
" Seven Cities of Cibola/' whose fabled gold inspired the dis-
covery of New Mexico in 1539, and afterward the most mar-
velous marches of exploration ever made on this continent.
Coronado, that greatest explorer, and the fii*st Caucasian sol-
dier who ever entered New Mexico, marched from the Gulf
of California almost to where Kansas City now is, in 1540,
besides making many other expeditions only less astounding.
And after his day, the most of the other Spanish world-find-
ers came fii^st to Zuhi and thence trudged on to the Rio
Grande, and to the making of a heroic history which is quite
without parallel.

As we move west down the vaUey, the mesas grow taller
and more beautiful; and presently we become aware of a
noble rock which seems to be chief of all its giant brethren.
Between two juniper- dotted canons a long, wedged-shaped
mesa tapers to the vaUey, and terminates at its edge in a
magnificent cliff which bears striking resemblance to a titanic
castle. Its front soars aloft in an enormous tower, and its
sides are sheer waUs two hundred and fifteen feet high, and
thousands of feet long, with strange white battlements and
wondrous shadowy bastions. Nothing mthout wings could

166 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

mount there j but a few 'hundred yards south of the tower
the mesa can be scaled — by a prehistoric trail of separate
foot-holes worn deep in the soUd rock. At the top, we find
that the wedge is hollow — a great V, in fact, for a canon from
behind splits the mesa almost to its apex. Upon the arms of
this V are the ruins of two ancient pueblos, which had been
abandoned before our liistory began, facing each other across
that fearful gulf. These stones ''cities" of the prehistoric
Americans were over two hundred feet square and four or
five stories tall — great terraced human beehives, mth sev-
eral hundred inhabitants each.

Tliis remarkable and noble rock was known to the Spanish
pioneers much more than two centuries before any of our
Saxon forefathers penetrated the appalling deserts of the
southwest 5 and even in this land full of wondrous stone
monuments it was so striking that they gave it a name for
its very own. They called it El Morro — the Castle — and
for over thi'ce hundred years it has borne that appropriate
title, though the few hundred "Americans " who have seen it
know it better as Inscription Rock. It is the most precious
cliff, historically, possessed by any nation on earth, and, I
am ashamed to say, the most utterh^ uncared-for.

Lying on the ancient road from Zuiii to the river — and
about thirty miles from the former — it became a most im-
portant landmark. The necessities of the wilderness made
it a camping-place for all who passed, since the weak spring
under the shadow of that great rock was the first water in a
hard day's march. There was also plenty of wood near, and

THE STONE AUTOGRAPH-ALBUM. 167

a fair shelter under the overhanging precipices. So it was
that every traveler who came to the Morro in those grim cen-
turies behind this stopped there, <and that included nearly
every notable figui^e among the fii'st heroes who trod what is
now our soil. And when they stopped, something else hap-
pened— something which occuiTcd nowhere else in the
United States, so far as we know. The sandstone of the cliff
was fine and very smooth, and when the supper of jerked
meat and popcorn-meal porridge had been eaten, and the
mailed sentries put out to withstand the prowling Apaches,
the heroes wrote their autographs upon a vast perpendicular
page of stone, mth their swords which had won the New
World for pens !

You must not imagine that this came from the trait which
gives ground for our modern rhyme about " fools' names, like
their faces." These old Spaniards were as unbraggart a set
of heroes as ever lived. It was not for notoriety that they
wrote in that wonderful autograph- album, not in vanity, nor
idly. They were piercing an unknown and frightful wilder-
ness, in which no civilized being dwelt — a wilderness which
remained until our own times the most dangerous area in
America. They were few — never was theii* army over two
hundred men, and sometimes it was a tenth of that — amid
tens of thousands of warlike savages. The chances were a
hundred to one that they would never get back to the world
— even to the half-savage Avorld of Mexico, which they had
just conquered and were Christianizing. No ! Wliat they
wrote was rather like leaving a headstone for unknown

168 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

graves ; a word to say, if any should ever follow, " Here were
the men who did not come back." It was a good-by like
the " Caesar, we, who are to die, salute you."

Coronado, the first explorer, did not pass Inscription Rock,
but took the southern trail from Zuni to the wondi-ous cliff-
city of Acoma. But among those who came after him, the
road by the Morro soon became the accepted thoroughfare
from Old to New Mexico ; and in its mouse-colored cliffs we
can read to-day many of the names that were great in the
early history of America. Such queer, long names some of
them are, and in such a strange, ancient hand-writing ! If
any boy had some of those real autographs on paper, they
would be worth a small fortune 5 and if I were not so busy
an old boy, I would trace some of them in one of my old
autogTaph-albums, exactly as they are written in that lonely
rock. But as it is, you shall have the photographic fac-
similes which I made purposely for you, and do with them
what you like.

On the southeast wall of the Morro are some very hand-
some autographs, and some very important ones. Th^ pio-
neers who passed in the winter generally camped under this
cliff to get the sun's warmth, while those who came in sum-
mer sought the eternal shade of the north side. All the
old inscriptions are in Sj)anish— and many in ver}^ quaint
old Spanish, of the days when spelhng was a very elastic
thing, and "wdth such remarkable abbre\dations as oui' own
forefathers used as many centuries ago. All around these
brave old names which are so precious to the historian — and

THE STONE AUTOGEAPH-ALBUM. 169

to all who admire heroism — are Saxon names of the last few
decades. Alas ! some of these late-comers have been vandals,
and have even erased the names of ancient heroes to make a
smooth place for their "John Jones" and "George Smith."
That seems to me an even more wicked and wanton thing
than the chipping of historic statues for relics; and I do
not, anyhow, envy the man who could wiite his petty name
in that sacred roster.

Near the tall, lone sentinel pine which stands by the south
wall of the Morro is a modest inscription of great interest
and value. It is protected from the weather by a little brow
of rock, and its straggling letters are legible still, though
they have been there for two hundi^ed and eighty-six years !
It is the autograph of that brave soldier and wise first gov-
ernor in the United States, Juan de Ohate. He w^as the real
founder of New Mexico, since he established its government
and built its fii'st two towns. In 1598 he founded San Ga-
briel de los Espaholes, which is the next oldest town in our
country. St. Augustine, Florida, is the oldest, having been
founded in 15G5, also by a Spaniard. Next comes San Ga-
briel, and third Santa Fe, which Onate founded in 1605.
But before there was a Santa Fe, he had made a march
even more wonderful than the one which brought him to
New Mexico. In 1G04 he trudged, at the head of thirty men,
across the fearful trackless desert from San Gabriel to the
Gulf of California, and back again ! And on the return from
that marvelous "journey to discover the South Sea" (the
Pacific) he camped at the Morro and wrote in its eternal
15

170 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

page. Here it is, just as he \\Tote it two years before oiu*
Saxou forefathers had built a hut in America, even on the
sea-coast — while he was fifteen hundred miles from the ocean.
The inscriptions are nearly all of such antique lettering, and
so full of abbreviations, that I shall give you the Spanish

i" ■■■'■ " w--v^-■ . -.■-;:--.-|

FIG. I. JUAN DE ONATE.

text in tj^e with an interhned translation, so that you may
pick out the queerly wi'itten words and get an idea of
sixteenth and seventeenth century "short-hand." Ohate's
legend reads :

" Paso por aqiii el adelanfado * don Jna de Onate dl descubri-

Passed by here the officer Don Juan de Oiiate to the discov-

mento de la mar del sur d 16 de Abril do. 1605P

ery of the sea of the South on the 16th of April, j^ear 1605.

This is the oldest identified autogi'aph on the Rock except
one, which is not absolutely certain — that of Pedro Romero ;
his date reads apparently 17580. Either some one has fool-
ishly added the nought — which is verj^ improbable — or the
1 is simply an ?, and the supposed 7 an old-fashioned 1.

* We have no exact word for adelanfado. He was the officer in
command of a new country.

THE STONE AUTOGRAPH-ALBUM. 171

This is very likely. "And" — y or /, in Spanisli — was often
written before the year; and the chances are that this in-
scription means "Pedro Romero and 1580." In that case,
Romero was one of the eight companions with whom Fran-
cisco Sanchez Chamuscado made his very remarkable march
of exploration in that year.

Just below Ohate's antogi'aph is one which some careless
explorers have made eighty years earher than his. The sec-
ond figure in the date does look like a 5 ; but no white man
had ever seen any part of New Mexico in 1526 ; and the fig-
ure is really an old-style 7. The autograph is that of Bas-
conzelos, and reads :

" For aqui pazo el Alferes D'^ Joseph de Payba Basconzelos el

By here passed the Ensign Don Joseph de Payba Basconzelos, the

ano que trujo el Cavildo del Reyno d su costa d 18 de Febo de

year that he brought the town-council of the kingdom (N. M.) at his own expense

1726 anosP

on the 18th of Feb. , of 1726 years (the year 1736).

Not far away is the pretty autogi'aph of Diego de Vargas
— that dashing but generous general who reconquered New
Mexico after the fearful Pueblo Indian rebellion of 1680. In
that rebellion twenty-one gentle missionaries and four hun-
dred other Spaniards were massacred by the Indians in one
day, and the survivors were driven back into Old Mexico.
This inscription was written when Vargas made his first
dash back into New Mexico — a prelude to the years of terrific
fighting of the Reconquest. He wrote :

" Aqui estaha el GenK Dn. Do. de Vargas , quien conquisto a

Here was the General Don Diego de Vargas, who conquered for

172 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.
miestra ^anta Fe y a Ja Real Corona todo el Nuevo Mexico a su

our Holy Faith and for the Royal Crown (of Spain) all the New Mexico, at his

costa, afio de 169 2 P

own expense (in the) year of 1692.

A little north of Vargas's valuable inscription is that (fig-
lU'e 2) of the expedition sent by Governor Francisco Mar-
tinez de Baeza to aiTange the troubles in Zuhi^ on the
urgent request of the chief missionary Fray Cristobal de
Quh'os. It reads :

^^ Pasamos por aqui el sarrjento mayor, y el capitan Jua. de

We pass by here, the lieutenant-colonel, and the Captain Juan de

Arechuleta, y el aiudante Diego Martin Barha, y el Alferes

Arechuleta, and the lieutenant Diego Martin Barba, and the Ensign

Agostyn de Ynojos, ano de 1636P

Augustin de Ynojos, in the year of 1636.

Below tliis are some ancient Indian pictogi-aphs. The sar-
gento mayor (literally "chief sergeant") who is not named

'.^rf^/^K

/ / //fi/'' /I '--' /

•^

FIG. 2. DIEGO MARTIN BARBA AND ALFERES AGOSTYN.

THE STONE AUTOGRAPH- ALBUM. 173

was probably brave Francisco Gomez. Tlie inscription is
in the handwriting of Diego Martin Barba, who was the
official secretary of Governor Baeza. In a httle cavity neai*
by is the inscription of "Juan Garsya, 1636." He was a
member of the same expedition. The handsome autograph
of Ynojos appears in several places on the rock.

Two quaint lines, in tiny but well-preserved letters, recall
a pathetic story. It is that of a poor common soldier, who
did not write his year. But history supplies that.

" Soy de mano de Felipe de Arellano d 16 de Setiemhre,

I am from the hand of Felipe de Arellano, on the 16th of September,

soldado^

soldier.

He was one of the Spanish " garrison " of three men left to
guard far-off Zufii, and slain by the Indians in the year 1700.
Not far away is the autograph of the leader of the " force " of
six men who went in 1701 from Santa Fe to Zuni (itseK a
desert march of three hundred miles) to avenge that massa-
cre, the Captain Juan de Urribarri. He left merely his name.
An autograph nearly obhterated is that of which we can
still read only :

^' Faso por aqui Fran^. de An . . . Alma . . ."

This was Francisco de Anaia Almazan, a minor but heroic
officer who served successively under Governor Otermin, the
great soldier Cruzate, and the Reconqueror Vargas, and was
in nearly every action of the long, red years of the Pueblo
Rebellion. At the time of the great massacre in 1680, he was
in the pueblo of Santa Clara. His three companions were

174 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

butcliered by the savages, and Alniazan escaped alone by
swimming the Rio Grande. He probably wi*ote in the albnm
of the Morro in 1692, at the same time with De Vargas. An-
other antograph of a member of the same expedition is that
of Diego Lncero de Godoy (figm'e 3). He was then a sar-
genfo maijor, a very good and brave officer, who was with
Governor Otermin in the bloody siege of Santa Fe by the
Indians, and in that dire retreat when the bleeding Spaniards
hewed their way tlu'ongh the swarming beleaguers and fought

FIG. 3. UIEGO LUCERO DE GODOY.

a passage to El Paso. He was also in nearly every battle of
the Reconquest. Salvador Holguin, whose autograph is also
on the rock, was another of Vargas's soldiers. Of about the
same time were several Naranjos, of whom Joseph was the
fii'st alcalde mayor (about equivalent to district judge) of
Zuhi after the Reconquest. Of a much earlier date was the
unknown soldier " Juan Gonzales, 1629 " (figure 4). A subse-
quent Gonzales i^assed and wi'ote here seventy-one years later,
in a Very peculiar " fist " :

^^ Pase por aqinj el afw 1700 yo, Ph. Gonzales"

I passed by here (in) the year 1700, I, Felipe Gonzales.

THE STONE AUTOGRAPH-ALBUM.

17,-

^.^^.y_,.,..,,,,,.,,y,,..,.,fl,fJ-,,r^-^r-;.J.'^,[l.ii:-,~\>t:/7^

o^Y

RJesa

FIG. 4. JUAN GONZALES.

AJirma as peculiar as that of our own famous "puzzler/"
General Spinner, is appended to the entry (figure 5) :

"A 5 del mes de Junijo deste afio de 1709 paso por aquy para

On the 5tli of the month of June of this year of 1709 passed by here, bound

Zufii Ramon Paez Jurfdo."

for Zuni, Ramon Paez Hurtado.

K--.-

FIG. 5. RAMON PAEZ HURTADO.

176 SOME STRANGE CORNEES OF OUR COUNTRY.

Another Hurtado wrote on the other wall, in queer little
square characters (figure 6) :

"^/ dia 14 de Julio de 1736 pasopor aqui el Gen^ Juan Faez

(On) the day 14th of July of 1736 passed by here the General Juan Paez

Htirtado^Visitador — y en su coynpania el ccibo Joseph TruxilJoP

Hurtado, Official Inspector, and in his company the corporal Joseph Truxillo.

This one was a son of the great General Hiu'tado — the
bosom friend of Vargas, repeatedly lieutenant-governor of the
territory, and in 1704 acting governor. He was afterward
giTatly X)ersecuted by Governors Cubero and Martinez. The
son also was a general, but not so prominent as his father.

^•'

FIG. 6. JL'AN PAEZ HURTADO.

On the north side of the Morro are the longest and most
elaborate inscriptions, the rock being there more favorable.
The earliest of them are the two long legends of the then
governor of New Mexico, Don Francisco Manuel de Silva
Nieto. They were not written by him, but by some admiring
officer in his httle force. A part has been effaced by the
modern vandal, but enough remains to mark that very nota-
ble jom-ney. The first says (figure 7) :

THE STONE AUTOGRAPH-ALBUM. 177

icve

FIG. 7. DON FRANCISCO MANUEL DE SILVA NIETO.

" Aqui . . . [paso el Goher] nador Don Francico Manuel de

Here passed the Governor Don Francisco Manuel de

Silva Nieto que Jo ynpuciMe fiene ya sujefo su Braco ynduhifable

Silva Nieto that the impossible has already (been) effected (by) his arm indom-

y SU Balor, con los Carros del Rei J^uestro Sefwr; cosa que solo

itable and his valor, with the wagons of the King Our Master ; a thing Avhich

el Puso en esfe Efecto, de Ahgosto 9, Seiscientos Beinte y

only he put in this shape on August 9, (one thousand) six hundred, twenty and

Xeuve, que . . . d Ctini Base y la Fe Uevey

nine, that to Zuni I passed and the Faith carried.

What is meant by Governor Nieto's " carrying the faith "
(that is, Christianity) is that on this expedition he took along
tlie heroic priests who established the mission of Zuhi, and
who labored alone amid that savage flock.

178 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

Et-.',-

i'O'-'','.'-

L.^..

Nieto's otlier inscription
(figriu'e 8), written on an-
other journey, is in a more
characteristic handA^Titing.
It says :

"^? jniusfrisimo Senor y

The most Illustrious Sir and

Cap. gen. de las iwos. del

Captain-General of the provinces of

miel)o Mexco. For el Key nro.

the New Mexico for the King Our Mas-

Sv. Paso por aqui de hnelta de

ter, passed by here on the return from

los pueblos de Zufii a los 29 de

the villages of Zuiii on the 29th of

Julio del ano de 1020^ y los

July of the year of 1629 and them (the

puso en paz a su pendimto.^

Indians) ne put in peace at their

pidiendole su fabor como ba-

request, (they) asking his favor as

saJlos de su niaff^, Y de nuebo

vassals of His Majesty. And anew

dieron la obediencia; todo lo

they gave obedience; all of which

que liiso con el agasaxe^ selo, y

he did with persuasiveness, zeal and

prudencia, como tan christian-

prudence, like such a most Chris-

isimo . . . tarn particular y

tian, such a careful and

gallardo soldado de inacahable

gallant soldier of tireless

y . . . memoria . . .''

and memory . . ."

THE STONE AUTOGRAPH-ALBUM. 179

Another long inscription, not so handsomely written but
very characteristic, is that of Governor Martinez, near by :

^^Ano de 1716 a los 26 de Agosfo paso imr aqui Don Feliz

(In the) year of 1716 on the 26th of August, passed by here Don Feliz

Martinez^ Govern^', y Ckip^K GenK de este Reijno^ d la reduczion

Martinez, Governor and Captain-General of this Kingdom, to the reduction

y conq^^K de. Moqui; y en sii compania el Rdo. P. F. Antonio

and conquest of Moqui ; and in his company the Reverend Father Fray Antonio

Camargo, Custodio y Juez Eclesiastico.^^

Camargo, Custodian and Judge-Ecclesiastic.

This was an expedition to reclaim to Christianity the lofty
cliff-built pueblos of Moqui, which had slain their mission-
aries; but it signally failed, and Martinez was recalled in
disgrace from his governorship. He and Pedro Rodriguez
Cubero were the worst governors New Mexico ever had after
1680, and no one was sorry for him. The Custodio was the
local head of the Church in New Mexico. A curious flour-
ish at the end of his autograph is the ruhrica much affected
by writers of the past centuries. There are many character-
istic ridmcas among the names on the Morro.

The first visit of a bishop to the southwest is recorded in a
very clear inscription, which runs :

^^ Diet 28 de Sept. de 1737 afios llego aqui el Dhno.

(On the) day 28th of September of 1737 years, reached here the most illus-

Sr. Dr. Dn. Mm. De FlizaecocJiea, Ohpo. de Durango, y el

trious Sir Doctor Don Martin de Elizaecochea, Bishop of Durango, and (on) the

dia 29 paso a ZuhiP

day 29th M'ent on to Zuni.

New Mexico belonged to the bishopric of Durango (Mexico)
until 1852. A companion autograph is that of the "Bachil-
ler ■' (Bachelor of Arts) Don Ygnacio de Arrasain. He was

180 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

with the bishop on this journey — an arduous and dangerous
iournev, even a century later than 1737.

One of the most puzzhng inscriptions in this precious au-
togi'aph album, and a ver}- important one, is that of the sol-
dier Lujan (figure 9). It is almost in hieroglyphics, and was
never deciphered until I put it into the hands of a gi*eat

^!is*>.

. i.'^'.^.T^'JfjftMCM.

-J

- -j-i^'

FIG. 9. LUJAN.

student of ancient writings — though after he solved the
riddle it is clear enough to any one who knows Spanish. Its
violent abbre\dations, the curious capitals ^nth the small final
letters piled " overhead," and its reference to a matter of his-
tory of which few Americans ever heard, combined to keep
it long a mystery. Reduced to long-hand Spanish, it reads :

" 8e pasaron a 23 de Marzo cle 1632 afios a la henganza de

They passed on the 23d of March of 1633 years to the avenging of the

Muerte del Padre Leirado. lAijanP

death of the Father Letrado.

THE STONE AUTOGRAPH-ALBUM. 181

What a romance and what a tragedy are hidden in those
two lines ! Father Francisco Letrado was the first perma-
nent missionary to the strange pp'am id-pueblo of Zuiii. He
came to New Mexico about 1628, and was first a missionary
to the Jumanos — the tattooed savages who hved in the edge
of the gi-eat plains, east of the Rio Grande. In 1629, you
will remember, the mission of Zuni was founded, and he was
sent to that lone, far parish and to his death. He labored
earnestly with his savage flock, but not for long. In Febru-
ary, 1630, they mercilessly slew him. Francisco de la Mora
Ceballos was then Governor of New Mexico, and he sent this
expedition "to avenge Father Letrado's death," under the
lead of the maestro de campo (Colonel) Tomas de Albizu.
Albizu performed his mission successfully and without blood-
shed. The Zunis had retreated to the top of their thousand-
foot chff, the To-yo-al-la-na, but were induced to return
peaceably to their pueblos. Lujan was a soldier of the ex-
pedition.

There are a great many other old Spanish autographs on
the sheer walls of the Morro ; but these are the principal ones
so far deciphered. Of the American names only two or three
are of any note at all. The earliest date from 1849, and are
those of Lieutenant Simpson and his scientific companion
Kern — doubtless the first of us to visit the spot. AU the
other Saxon names are very recent and very unimportant.

I am sure that if any of my readers had any one of those
old autographs in his album, he would guard it jealously;
and it is a shame that we are neglecting that noble stone
16

182 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

book of the Morro. A few more years and a few more van-
dals, and notliing will be left of what now makes the rock
so precious. The government should protect it, as it would
be protected in any other civilized land ; and when some of
you get into Congress, I hope you will look to this and other
such duties. Otherwise the next generation wdD awake only
to find that it has lost a unic^ue and priceless treasui'e.

XIV.

THE RIVERS OF STONE.

iF a line were drawn from Lake Manitolja to the
Gulf of Mexico at Galveston, approximately
halving the United States, and we could get
these two halves on a small enough scale to
compare them side by side, we should find
that Natm*e herseK had ah'eady made as striking a division.
We should find such a difference between them as we now
scarcely realize. Broadly speaking, we should discover the
eastern half to be low, rather flat, wooded and wet ; the western
half many times as high above sea-level, extremely mountain-
ous, generally bare, and phenomenally dry. Its landscapes are
more brown than green, its ranges barren and far more bris-
tling than those of the east ; and its plains vast bleak ujDlands.
Its very air is as different from that of the eastern haK as
white is different from gray. It is many times lighter and
many times clearer, and incomparably diier. It is a sort of
wizard air, which plays all sorts of good-natured tricks upon
the stranger. Delicious to breathe, a real tonic to the lungs,
a stimulant to the skin, it seems to delight in fooling the eyes.
Through its magic clearness one sees three times as far as in
the heavier atmosphere of the east, and the stranger's esti-

184 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

mates of distance have all to be made over. It is no uncom-
mon thing for the traveler to deem an object but five miles
off when it is really twenty miles or even more. And a still
more startling trick of this strange atmosphere is that it very
frequently makes one see things which do not exist at all !
It is a cm'ious paradox that this atmospheric freaky of which
you know as the mirage, is confined to dry countries — des-
erts, in fact — and that the illusion it most commonly pre-
sents is water ! To^\ms and mountains and animals are
sometimes j)ictm'ed, but oftenest it is a counterfeit of water
that is shown the weary traveler in a land where there is no
water, and where water means life.

The very landscape under this wonderful air has an ap-
pearance to ])e found nowhere else. Its barrenness seems en-
chanted ', and there is an unearthly look al)out it all. Water-
courses are extremely rare — in a quarter of a continent
there are only three good-sized rivers, and it is in places
hundreds of miles between l^rooks. In a word, the countrv
seems to have been burnt out — it reminds one of a gigantic
cinder.

It is true that there are in this area a gi'eat many rivers of
a sort not to be found in the East — and such strange rivers !
They are black as coal, and full of strange, savage waves, and
cm'ious curling eddies, and enormous bubbles. The springs
from which they started ran dry centuries ago ; a mouth not
one of them ever had ; and yet their black flood has not been
soaked up by the thu'sty sands. There lies the broad, wild
current, sometimes thu'ty feet higher than its banks, yet not

THE RIVERS OF STONE. 185

overflowing them ; a ciuTent across which men walk without
danger of sinking, hut not without danger of another sort ;
a cm-rent in which not fishes bnt wild beasts hve — often even
one river on top of another !

You wall wonder what sort of rivers these can be. They
are characteristic of the West — there are none of them in
the East ; l)ut in an area larger than that which holds three-
fom-ths of the poj)ulation of the United States they are a
part of the country. They line hundreds of valleys. If the
rest of the landscape suggests fire, they suggest it ten times
more. And rightly enough, for they have seen fire — nay,
they have been fii'C. They are burnt rivers, that ran as fire
and remain as stone.

By this time you will have guessed what I mean — that
these rivers of stone are neither more nor less than lava-flows.
They are stranger than that African river of ink (made by
the combination of chemicals soaked from the soil), and in-
comparably more important, for they have to do with causes
which much more nearly affect mankind. The gi'eat differ-
ence between the East and West is that the latter is a vol-
canic country, while the former is not; and nearly all the
striking dissimilarities of air, chmate, landscape, and even
customs of the people, arise from this fact. The West has
been heaved up by the fires within, and biu-ned out and
parched dry — so dry that even the sky feels it. The rainfall
is far less than in the East ; and to make their crops grow
the western farmers have to flood their fields several times
in a season from some stream or reservoir.

186 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

As we go soiitli tliis volcanic condition becomes more and
more predominant. The vast southwest is a strongly vol-
canic country, and covered with embers of its old fires.
There are no active volcanoes in the United States, but in the
southwest there are thousands of extinct ones, each with its
one to a dozen black rivers of stone. These volcanoes are
not large peaks like the giants of Central and South Amer-
ica ; most of them are small cones rising but little above the
suri'ounding plains, some not more than fifty feet. Yet so
elevated is the whole country there that the top of such a
cone is frequently much higher above the sea-level than the
summit of Mount Washington.

Of the many volcanic regions I have explored, one of the
most interesting is in the Zuhi Mountains of western New
Mexico, and along their slopes. All through the range —
whose tops are over eight thousand feet in altitude — are
scattered scores of extinct volcanoes; and their lava-flows
have overrun many thousands of square miles. The range
is covered with a magnificent pine forest — a rare enough
thing in the southwest — partly growing uj^on ancient flows,
and cut in all directions by later ones. The soil everywhere
is sown with jagged fragments of lava, which makes travel
irksome ; and in the picturesque Zuhi canon which traverses
the range is a singular sight — where the lava, too impatient
to await outlet by a crater, boiled out in gi^eat waves from
under the bottom of the canon's walls, which are sandstone
precipices hundreds of feet high.

The largest crater in this range is about two miles south

THE RIVERS OF STONE. 187

of tlie lonely little rancli-honse at Agua Fria. It is a great,
reddish-brown, truncated cone, rising about five liundi-ed feet
above the plateau, and from thi-ee sides looks very regular
and round. Around it are the tall pines, and a few have
even straggled up its sides, as if to see what it all means.
But they have found it hard climbing, and cling upon its
precipitous flanks as if disheartened and out of breath. Nor
can one blame them. To the top of that crater is one of
the very hardest climbs I know — the ascent of Pike's Peak
did not tii-e me nearly so much. The whole cone is covered
several feet deep mth coarse, sharp volcanic ashes, or rather
cinders — for each fragment is as large as the tip of one's
finger. The slope is of extreme steepness, and this loose
covering of scorias makes ascent almost hopeless. The
climber sinks calf -deep at every step; and, worse still, at
every step sets the whole face of the slope, for a rod around,
to shding down-hill. No one can go straight up that ardu-
ous pitch; one has to chmb sidewise and in zigzags, and
with frequent pauses for breath ; and it is a decided relief,
mental as well as physical, when one stands at last upon the
rim of that giant bowl.

A strange, wild sight it is when we gain the edge of the
crater. A fairly terrific abyss yawns beneath us ; an abyss
of dizzy depth and savage grandeur. Its bottom is far lower
than the level of the countrv around the outside of the cone
— from that rim to the bottom of the crater must be eight
hundred feet. In shape the interior is less like a great bowl
than a gi-eat funnel. The rim is very narrow — in many

188 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

places not more than six feet across — and terribly rough.
The rock is cooked to an absolute cinder, and is more
jagged than anything familiar to the East. Imagine a mill-
ion tons of rock exactly like one great "clinker" from a
furnace, and you get some idea of it. Tall, weird cliffs of the
same roasted rock surround the crater a few liundi'ed feet
below the rim ; and below these again is the long, swift slope
of scorioe to the V-shaped bottom. Under the eastern cliff
is a strange, misplaced little gi'ove of cotton-woods, which
seem ill enough at ease in that gruesome spot — their roots
clutching amid the ashy rocks, their tops hundreds of feet
below the rim. Here and there in the cliffs are wild, dark-
mouthed caves; and from these long, curious lines lead
across the slope of cinders. They look like tracks across a
sand-bank — and tracks they are, though one would never
look for footprints in such a forbidding chasm. But, oddly
enough, this dead crater is the chosen retreat of more than
one form of life. There are no other cotton-woods in a great
many miles except those I have mentioned — outside the
crater it is too cold for this shivering tree. And this same
grim shelter has been chosen by one of the least delicate of
animals — for those tracks are bear-tracks. Several of these
big brutes live in the caves of the crater and of the lava-flows
outside. The Agua Fria region is a great place for bear;
and at certain times of the year they are an enormous nui-
sance to the people at the rancho, actually tearing doAm
quarters of beef hung against the house, and very nearly
tearing dovm the house with the meat. Several have been

THE RIVERS OF STONE. 189

killed right at the house. A few days before my last visit to
the crater one of the cowboys, a powerful young Ute Indian,
was herding the horses near the foot of the cone, when he saw
a huge black bear scrambling up the acclivity. A good shot
at nearly five hundred yards brought Bruin rolling to the
foot of the cone, quite dead. His skin was an imposing sight
when tacked upon the outside of the log-house to diy, for it
reached from the ridge-pole to the ground, and then had sev-
eral inches to spare. Besides the bears, the coyotes, wild-cats,
and mountain-lions which infest that region, all make their
homes in the caves of the mal pais or "bad lands," the gen-
eral name in New Mexico for lava and other volcanic areas.
It is noticeable that only such animals as these and the dog
— some creatm'e with cushioned feet — can live or travel in
the mal pais. Anything with hoofs, like the deer or antelope
which abound there, or the cattle and sheep which also range
those mountains, cannot long tread those savage-edged rocks.
The funnel of the crater is not perfect. On the south side
the huge bowl has lost part of its rim. The crater is about
seven hundi*ed yards across the top, and nearly three hun-
dred yards deep ; and you may imagine that it was a rather
warm and weird time when this great caldi'on was full to
the brim with doiling rock. A terrific potful it must have
been, and doubly fearful when that stupendous weight burst
out the. side of the pot and poured and roared down the val-
ley a flood of fire. Think of a lake of lava so heavy that it
simply tore out a mountain-side eight hundred feet high and
five hundred feet thick at the bottom ! The break in the

190 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

crater is in the shape of a huge iiTegular Y, nearly a thou-
sand feet across the top, and over five hundred from top to
bottom ; and all that great slice of solid rock, weighing mill-
ions of tons (for it takes only a cubic yard to weigh a ton),
was knocked out as unceremoniously as though a giant had
cleft it out with an ax.

That is the sort of spring in which the rivers of stone had
their soui'ce ; and this particular crater fed many enormous
streams. Of course it is many centuries since tliis grim
spring ran diy ; but we can judge very well how it acted when
it sent out its strange hot floods. Fii'st, above the soughing
of the pines rose deep, pent-up ruml)lings, and the solid earth
rocked and shivered. Then there was a great explosion just
where that still l^rown cone stands to-day, and this great wart
was heaved up from the level plateau, and a vast cloud of
steam and ashes sprung far into the sky. Then the molten
flood of rock rose in the gi'eat bowl, and brimmed it, and ran
over in places, and boiled and seethed. And suddenh^, with
a report louder than a hundred cannon, the Avail of the crater
broke, and that resistless deluge of fii-e rolled like an ava-
lanche down the valley, ploAving a channel fifty feet deep in
the bed-rock at its outlet, mowing down giant pines as if
they had been straAvs, sAveeping along enormous boulders like
di'iftwood, and spreading death and eternal desolation for
leagues around. A flood of any sort is a fearful thing. I
have seen a wall of Avater ninety feet high sAveep down a nar-
row pass, at the bui^sting of a great reser\"oir at Worcester,
Mass. It cut off oak-trees two feet in diameter and left

THE RIVERS OF STONE. 191

of them only square, splintered stumps. A five-story brick
building stood in the way, and quicker than you could snap
a finger it was not. Iron pipes that weighed a thousand
pounds floated on that mad flood for a moment ! And what
must it be when the breaking dam lets out an avalanche of
molten rock in a wave five hundred feet high !

That first outrush must have been a subHme thing. But
even more than water, a lava stream begins to lose force as
it gets away from its head. It is so much thicker than water
at the start, and with every mile it gi'ows thicker still. Soon
it runs very much like cold molasses ; a sluggish, black, un-
natural sort of stream, with its middle higher than its sides
and the sides higher than the banks. The process of cooling
begins very quickly and goes on rapidly. The " river " runs
more and more slowly; and along its upper course (if the
eruption has ceased) a sheU will begin to form within a fort-
night. So here is the strange phenomenon of a river running
inside a stone conduit of its own making. The shell l^ecomes
hard enough, long before it is cool enough, to walk upon ;
and within, the fiery flood still pours along. A great deal of
gas and steam is imprisoned in the molten flow. Sometimes
it only makes huge ])ubl)les, which remain frozen in the eter-
nal stone. I have found these bubbles ten feet in diameter
— curious arched caves, in which a whole party might camp.
But if the volume of gas be too great, terrific explosions oc-
cur ; and in places the top of the flow for a hundred acres is
rent into a million fragments, so sharp-pointed that no crea-
ture can cross them.

192 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

The chief river of stone from this crater is about fifty-seven
miles long, and its black, unmo\dng flood covers some four
hundred square miles. It runs south for a few miles from
the crater, then makes a gi'eat bend to the east, and, passing
the beautif id rincon * of Cebollita, runs to the northeast nutil
it unites with a smaller flow in the valley of the San Jose.
In places it is a dozen miles mde, and in some narrow passes
not more than a mile. At the bend the hot, sluggish cuiTcnt
actually ran a couple of miles up-hill, in its reluctance to
turn a corner.

Not far from this elbow in the stone river is a very inter-
esting spot. The Pueblo Indians have dwelt for unknown
ages in that part of New Mexico ; and on a fine rock bluff at
Cebollita is one of the handsomest of theu* prehistoric ruins
— a large stone pueblo surrounded by a noble stone wall.
This fortified to^\ai was abeady deserted and forgotten when
Coronado came in 1540. The Qiieres Pueblos have still a
legend of the Afio cle la Liimhre, or "Year of Fire." They
say theii' forefathers dwelt in these valleys when the lava
floods came and made it so hot that aU had to move away ;
and there is a dumb but eternal witness to the truth of their
story. A few miles from Cebollita were some of their small,
separate farm-houses in the prett}' valley, and through one of
these a current of the stone river ran. There stands to this
day that ancient house, long roofless but with strong walls
stiU ; and through a gap in them and over the floor lies the
frozen black tide.

There are two islands in this peculiar river, and as peculiar

* Corner.

THE RIVERS OF STONE. 193

as itself. Instead of rising above the flood tliey are below it
— lonely parks witli grass and stately pines, walled witli the
black lava which stands twenty feet above their level. The
largest of these parks contains abont twenty thonsand acres.
There is a narrow trail into it, and it is nsed as a pastm^e for
the horses of the ninety-seven-thonsand-acre A. L. C. ranch.
There are only two trails by which this lava-flow can be
crossed by men or horses. Everywhere else it is as nmcli as
one's life is worth to attempt a passage. No one inexperi-
enced can conceive of the crnel ronghness of these flows. The
strongest shoes are absolntely cnt to pieces in a short walk ;
and then woe to the walker if he have not arrived at more
merciful ground. Several years ago a band of horse-thieves,
led by a desperado known as Charlie Ross, wxn^e fleeing from
Gallup with several stolen animals. The officers were close at
their heels, and to be overtaken meant a swift bullet or a
long rope. The " rustlers '' missed the trail, but tried to cross
a narrow part of the flow. It was a cruel and indescribable
passage. They got across and escaped — for the pursuers
were not so foolhardy as to enter the lava — but on foot.
Their horses, including a four-hundred-dollar thoroughbred,
were no longer al)le to stand. The desperate riders had
spurred them over that cruel surface until their hoofs were
absolutely gone, and the poor brutes had no feet at all ! The
robbers themselves came out barefoot, and the rocks were
marked with their blood. I am glad to remember that the
pursuers soon got around the inal pais, and put the horses
out of their misery.
17

194 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

This flow rims for several miles beside the track of the
Atlantic and Pacific Railway, just west of McCarty, and
comes to an abrupt end in a pretty little meadow there.
The small bluish San Jose creek rises in a cold spring which
pours forth from a cave in the lava, very much like the
beautiful spring at Agua Fria. The creek evidently be-
longed in the valley before the lava came, and despite that
fearful invasion of fii'e it still holds its o^yll. For miles it
runs through the great black river of stone, now in winding
channels, and again heard but unseen in long caves under
the lava. There are also in this part of the flow a dozen or
more nearly circular basins, some filled with water from the
brook, and a favorite breeding-place for wild ducks. It is a
very unsatisfactory^ place to hunt, however, for your duck is
very liable to fall into one of the deep, narrow cracks in the
lava, where he is lost forever.

The "svildest and most interesting part of this stone river is
up near its head. Everywhere it keeps its old waves and its
very eddies, frozen into enduring rock ; everywhere it has its
upheavals and its dangerous fissures. But near the crater
its surface is inconceivably wild and broken. It seems to
have gouged out a tremendous channel for itself in its first
mad rush. For a mile the flow is a succession of " slumps."
The sohd rock beneath seems to have dropped out of sight,
and when the fiery river cooled it dropped too, but only in
places. I suppose that really the molten lava all ran out
from that part of the conduit, and that finall}^ the shell broke
dowTi in spots. But what a conduit it must have been !

THE KIVEKS OF STONE. 195

For areas of five acres of this hardest rock, twenty feet thick,
have simply dropped down aud He at the bottom of a savage
well seventy-five feet deep ! There are a dozen or more of
these wild " sink-holes," varying from half an acre in area
to more than ten times as much ; and they are the most for-
bidding, desolate, chaotic wrecks imaginable. Most of them
are inaccessible, for theii* rock walls are sheer • bnt I have
clambered down into some of them, and in every one which
conld be entered have fonnd the dens of bears and otlier
wild beasts. They are safe enough there from molestation
even by the ubiquitous cowboy, who has to ride everywhere
else in search of stray cattle.

In one of these sinks I made a curious discovery in the
fall of 1891. Perj)etual snow is supposed not to exist in the
southwest. We have several peaks over twelve thousand
feet high, but that is not a sufficient altitude for eternal
snow in this arid climate. The spring sun makes short work
of the drifts, even at the greatest elevations. But here I
found perpetual snow at an altitude of eight thousand feet,
in the strangest refrigerator nature ever built.

It was in the largest of these sinks near the Agua Fria
crater — a gruesome pit into which I descended with some
misgivings, in quest of bear, and in company with the Ute
cowboy. After exploring the various caves in vain, finding
plenty of traces of bear but no bear, we went clambering over
the chaos of lava blocks to a great, dark cavity at the head
of the sink. Here the broken conduit showed plainly. It is
a huge tunnel, with an arch of nearly fifty feet, and running

196 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

back under the lava no one knows how far. In the month
of the tunnel, fully one huncli-ed feet below the surface of the
flow, is a clear, cold 2300I of water, walled behind by a bank
of snow twenty feet in \dsible thickness. It is flat as a floor
on top, and sheer as a wall in front, and runs back nearly a
hundred feet. The successive deposits are clearly marked. In
the severe winter of those mountains a great deal of snow
drifts into the tunnel. In summer this settles and hardens,
and volcanic ashes blow in and form a thin layer upon it.
The sun never enters beyond a point about ten feet back of a
perpendicular from the top of the cliff, and as the cliff forms
a sort of bay, this mass of snow is touched by the sun in a
semicircle, and melts so that its face is in the shape of a cres-
cent. This perpendicular wall of snow twenty feet high is
very pretty, for, with its bluish strata interlined with the yel-
low horizontal bands of dust, it looks for all the world like a
huge section of Mexican onyx. It is settled and solidified
until it is half ice ; but the hottest summer makes no fur-
ther impression upon it. A strange place for eternal snow,
trid}^; a novel idea in ice-houses — this refrigerator in what
was once the hottest place in the world! The contrast is
noticeable enough, even now. In summer the sun beats
down into the pit with great fury, and the black rocks ab-
sorb its heat until a hand can hardly be laid ui)on them.
But the instant one steps into the shade of the gi-eat arch
there is a tremendous change in temperature. From being
nearly broiled one passes in two steps to a chill which can-
not long be borne. Up under the gloomy rock arch twitter-

THE RnTERS OF STONE. 197

ing swallows have tlieir nests, and all the hot day they skim
about in the mouth of the tunnel, now in sun and now in
shade.

Such volcanic ice-houses are sometimes useful, too. The
city of Catania in Sicily is supplied with ice from a somewhat
similar cavern in one of the lava-flows of ^tna. But I do
not know how the ice-cave of the Zuhi Mountains can ever
be made available, unless, indeed, the resident bears and wild-
cats should take a notion to di-ag in a calf or deer and keep
it in this unique cold-storage warehouse against a possible
famine.

Not only are there these stone rivers in so many of the
valleys, but thousands of the great sandstone mesas (table-
lands) of New Mexico and Arizona are capped with flat lava-
flows from ten to fifty feet thick. In some places there are
solitary buttes, one or two hundred feet high, standing alone
in a plain. Their tops are solid lava, but there is not another
sign of a flow for miles around. Those flows were extremely
ancient, and erosion has cut down all the rest of the lava-
covered upland and carried it away in sand, leaving only this
one strange " island " in token of what once was. Very fre-
quently, too, in such a mesa the underlying sandstone is so
much softer that it has been worn awav first, and the harder
cap of lava projects everywhere like a great, rough cornice.

XV.

THE NAVAJO BLANKET.

B^^^^^^NE of the striking curiosities of one of our
g| Strange Corners is the Navajo hhinket. There
is no other l)lanket like it. It is remarkable
that half -naked savages in a remote wilderness
which is almost a desert, unwashed nomads who
never live in a house, weave a handsomer, more durable, and
more valualjle blanket than is tm'ued out by the costl}^ and
intricate looms of Europe and America ; l)ut it is true. The
covers which shelter us nights are very i:)Oor affairs, artis-
tically and commercially, compared to those superb fal)i*ics
woven by Navajo women in the rudest caricature of a loom.
Blanket- weaving is the one domestic industry of this great
tribe of twenty thousand souls, whose temporary l)rush shel-
ters dot the northwestern mountains of New Mexico and the
eastern ranges of Arizona; but they do it well. The work
of the men is stock-raising — they have a million and a half
of sheep, a hundred thousand cattle, and several hundred thou-
sand beautiful ponies — and they also plant a very little corn.
The women have no housework to do, because they have no
houses — a very different social condition from that of their

THE NAVAJO BLANKET. 199

neighbors, the cleanly, indnstrions, farm-tending, home-lov-
ing Pueblos. They make hardly any pottery, buying what
they need from the expert Pueblos, in exchange for their own
matcliless l:>lankets, which the Pueblos no longer weave.

The Navajo country is a very lonely and not altogether
safe one, for these Indians are jealous of intruders ; but it is
full of interest, and there is much to be seen in safe prox-
imity to the raih'oad — particularly near Manuelito, the last
station in New Mexico.

It fairly takes one's breath away to ride up one of these
barren mesas, among the twisted pihons, and find a ragged
Indian woman squatted before a loom made of three sticks,
a rope, and a stone, weaving a blanket of great beauty in de-
sign and color, and with the durability of iron. But that is
what one may see a thousand times in this strange territory
by taking the necessary trouble, though it is a sight that few
white people do see. The Navajo is a seeker of seclusion, and
instinctively pitches his camp in an out-of-the-way location.
You may pass wdthin fifty yards of his Iwgan and never sus-
pect the proximity of human life, unless your attention is
called by one of his wolfish dogs, which are very fond of
strangers — and strangers rair. If you can induce the dog to
save you for supper, and will follow his snarling retreat, this
is what you may see :

Under the shelter of a juniper, a semicircular wind-break
built breast-high of brush, and about fifteen feet from point
to point ; a tiny heap of smoldering coals ; a few greasy
sheep-skins and l)lankets lying against the l)rush; perhaps

200 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

the jerked meat of a sheep hanging to a branch, and near it
pendent a few silver ornaments; a bottle-necked basket,
pitched mthont and full of cold water; an old Spencer
carbine or a Winchester leaning against the " wall " ; a few
bare-legged youngsters of immeasurable mu'th, but diffident
toward strangers ; mayhap the lord of the castle and a male
companion or two playing cunquian with solemn faces and
Mexican cards; the dogs, the lariated ponies — and the lady
of the house at her remarkable loom.

For simplicity of design, the Navajo "loom'' — if it can be
dignified by such a title — is unique. Occasionally the frame
is made by setting two posts firmly in the ground about six
feet apart, and lashing cross-pieces at top and bottom. Sf
complicated an affair as this, however, is not usual. Ordi-
narily a straight pole is lashed between two trees, at a height
of five or six feet from the ground. A strong rawhide rope,
wound loosely round and round this, serves to suspend the
"supplementary yarn-l)eam," a straight l)ar of wood five or
six feet long. To this in turn is attached a smaller bar,
around which the upper ends of the stout strings which con-
stitute the warp are tied. The lower ends of these strings
are tied to a similar bar, which is anchored ])y stones at a
distance of about two inches from the ground, thus keeping
the string taut. And there is your loom.

On the ground a foot away squats the weaver, bare-shinned
and bare-armed, with her legs crossed tailor fashion. The
warp hangs vertically before her, and she never rises while
weaving. A stick holds the alternate cords of the warp

THE NAVAJO BLANKET. 201

apart in opposite directions, and thus enables her to run the
successive threads of the woof across without difficulty. As
soon as a thread, has been thus loosely introduced to its
proper position, she proceeds to ram it down with the tight-
ness of the charge in a Foui'th-of-July cannon by means of a
long, thin, hard-wood " batten-stick," frequently shaped some-
thing like an exaggerated bread-knife. It is little wonder
that that woof will hold water, or stand the trampling of a
lifetime. Every thread of it is rammed home with a series
of vicious jabs sufficient to make it " set down and stay sot."
For each unit of the frequently intricate pattern she has a
separate skein ; and the unhesitating skill with which she
brings them in at theu^ proper intervals is astonishing.

Now, by the time her woof has. risen to a point twenty-five
to thii'ty inches above the ground, it is evident that some new
arrangement is essential to her convenience. Does she get
up and stand to the job ? Not at all. She simply loosens
the spirally wound rope on the pole above so that its loops
hang a foot or two lower, thus letting down the supple-
mentary yarn-beam and the yarn-beam by the same amount.
She then makes a fold in the loosened web, and tightly sews
the upper edge of this fold to the cloth-beam below, thus
making the web taut again. This is the Navajo patent for
overcoming the lack of our " revohing cloth-bearers." This
operation is repeated several times before a full-sized blanket
is completed. The smallest size of saddle blanket can be
woven without changing the loom at all.

All Navajo blankets are single ply, the pattern being tho

202 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

same on both sides. I have seen but two which had on one
side a different ]3attern from that on the other. .

The range of qnahty in Navajo blankets is great. The
common bhinket, for bedding and rough wear, is a rude
thing indeed beside its feast-day brother. These cheap ones,
ahnost always of full size — about six by five feet — are nuide
of the native wool. The Navajos raise then* own sheep, shear
them, card, twist, and dye the wool. The prevailing color of
the blanket is natural — a whitish gray — and through this
ground run cross-stripes, generally of blue, but sometimes
of red, black, or yelloAV. These stripes are mostly in native
dyes, the blue being now obtained from American indigo.
They also dye in any color with dyes made l)y themselves
from herbs and minerals. These wool blankets require a
week or so for wea\dng, and sell at from two dollars and a
half t(^ eight dollars apiece. They are frequently half an
inch thick, and are the warmest of l)lankets, their fuzzy
softness making them much warmer than the higher-priced,
tighter-woven, and consequently stiffer ones.

In the second grade of blankets there is an almost endless
variety. These are now made of Germantown yarn, which
the Navajos buy in big skeins at the various stores and trad-
ing-posts along the line of the Atlantic and Pacific Railway,
which passes some twenty-five miles south of the whole line
of their reservation. And remarkably fine blankets they
make of it. Their ability as inventors of neat designs is
truly remarkable. The cheap blankets are very much of a
piece; but when you come up into patterns, it would be

THE NAVAJO BLANKET. 203

difficult to find in the whole territory two blankets exactly
alike. The designs are ingenious, characteristic, and admira-
bly worked out. Sometimes the weayer traces the pattern on
the sand before beginning her blanket, but as a rule she
composes it in her head as the work progresses. Circles or
curved lines are neyer used in these l)lankets. The preyail-
ing patterns are straight stripes, diagonals, regular zigzags,
diamonds and crosses — the latter being to the Indians em-
blems of the morning or eyening star.

The colors used are limited in number. Scarlet is the
fayorite red, and indigo almost the only blue in use. These
and the white of the bleached wool are the original colors,
and the only ones which appear in the yery best blankets.
It is curious that these sayages should haye chosen our own
" red, white, and blue " long before we did — they were weav-
ing already before the first European ever saw America. The
Spanish conquerors brought the first sheep to the New World,
and soon gave these valuable animals to the Pueblo Indians.
So wool came into New Mexico and disi)laced the Indian cot-
ton, and the Navajos quickly adopted the new material.

But of late there has been a sad deterioration in Navajo
weaving — the Indians have learned one of the mean lessons
of civilization, and now make their blankets less to wear
than to sell. So an abominable combination of colors has
crept in, until it is very difficult longer to get a blanket mth
only the real Indian hues. Black, green, and yellow are
sometimes found in superb blankets, and so combined as not
to lessen their value; but as a rule these colors are to be

204 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

avoided. But now some weavers use colors wliieli to an In-
dian are actually accursed — like \T.olet, purple, dark brown,
etc., the colors of witchcraft — and such blankets are worth-
less to collectors. With any Indian, color is a matter of
rehgion, and red is the most sacred of hues. The amount
of it in a blanket largely determines the price. An amusing
instance of the Navajo devotion to red was brought to my
notice some years ago. A post trader had received a ship-
ment of prepared coffee, half in red papers and half in blue.
In a month every red package was gone, and every blue
package was left on the shelves ; nor would the Indians
accept the blue even then until long waiting con\dnced them
that there was no present prospect of getting any more red.

The largest of these Germanto^^^l-yarn blankets take sev-
eral weeks to weave, and are worth from fifteen to fifty
dollars.

The ver}^ highest gi*ade of Navajo blanket is now very rare.
It is a dozen years since one of them has been made; the
yarn blankets, which are far less expensive and sell just as
well to the ignorant traveler, have entirely supplanted them.
Only a few of the precious old ones remain — a few in the
hands of wealthy Pueblo Indians and Mexicans — and they
are almost priceless. I know every such blanket in the south-
west, and, outside of one or two private collections, the speci-
mens can be counted on one's fingers. The colors of these
choicest blankets are red, white, and blue, or, rarely, just red
and white. In a very few sjiecimens there is also a little
black. Red is very much the prevaihng color, and takes up

THE NAVAJO BLANKET. 205

sometimes four-fiftlis of the blanket, the other colors merely
drawing the pattern on a red gronnd.

This red material is from a fine Turkish woolen cloth,
called halleta. It nsed to be imported to Mexico, whence the
Navajos procured it at first. Later, it was sold at some of
the trading-posts in this territory. The fixed price of it was
six dollars a pound. The Navajos used to ravel this cloth
and use the thread for their finest blankets j and it made
such blankets as never have been produced elsewhere. Their
dm'ability is wonderful. They never fade, no matter how
frequently washed — an operation in which aniole, the sapo-
naceous root of the ixdmilla^ should be substituted for soap.
As for wTar, I have seen balleta blankets which have been
used for rugs on the floors of populous Mexican houses for
fifty years, which still retain their brilliant color, and show
serious wear only at their broken edges. And they will hold
water as well as canvas will.

A balleta blanket like that shown in the frontispiece is
worth two hundred dollars, and not a dozen of them could
be bought at any price. It is seventy-three inches long b^^
fifty-six inches wide, and weighs six pounds. You can easily
reckon that the thread in it cost something, at six dollars a
pound, and the weaving occupied a Navajo woman for many
months. It is hardly thicker than the cover of this book,
and is almost as firm. It is too thin and stiff to be an ideal
bed-blanket, and it was never meant to be one. All blankets
of that quality were made to be worn upon the shoulders
of chiefs 5 and most of them were iwnclws — that is, they
18

206 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

had a small slit left in the center for the wearer to pnt his
head throiigh, so that the blanket wonld hang npon him
like a cape. Thus it was combined overcoat, waterproof, and
adornment. I bought this specimen, after weeks of diplo-
macy, from Martin del Valle, the noble-faced old Indian who
has been many times governor of the cliff-built ''city" of
Acoma. He bought it twenty years ago from a Navajo war-
chief for a lot of ponies and turquoise. He has used it ever
siace, but it is as brilliant, and apparently as strong, as the
day it was finished.

These finest blankets are seldom used or shown except
upon festal occasions, such as councils, dances, and races.
Thev are then brou^'ht forth with all the silver and beaded
buckskin, and in a large crowd of Indians make a truly start-
ling disj^lay. Some wear them the middle gu*t around the
waist by a belt of hea\y silver disks, the lower end falling
below the knees, the upper end throT\Ti loosely over the
shoulders. Others have them thrown across the saddle, and
others tie them in an ostentatious roll behind.

The Navajos and Pueblos also weave remarkably fine and
beautiful l)elts and garters, from two to eight inches wide
and two to nine feet long ; and dm-able and pretty dresses
for theu' women.

The loom for weaving one of the handsome belts worn by
Pueblo women is quite as simple as that of the Navajos for
wearing blankets. One end of the warp is fastened to a stake
driven into the gi'ound in front of the weaver, the other to a
rod held in place by a strap around her waist ; so to tighten

THE NAVAJO BLANKET. 207

the wai-p she has only to sit back a little. The device for
separating the alternate threads of the warp so that the shut-
tle can be pushed through looks like a small rolling-pin ; and
in the weaver's right hand is the oak batten-stick for ramming
the threads of the woof tightly together. The weaver sits
flat upon the ground ; generally upon a blanket to keep her
manta clean, for the di'ess of a Pueblo woman is neat, hand-
some, and expensive. These belts are always two-ply, that is,
the pattern on one side is different from that on the other.

It may also be news to you to learn that both Navajos and
Pueblos are admirable silversmiths, and make all their own
jewelry. Their silver rings, bracelets, earrings, buttons, belts,
dress pins, and bridle ornaments are very well fashioned with
a few rude tools. The Navajo smith works on a flat stone
under a tree ; but the Pueblo artificer has generally a bench
and a little forge in a room of his house.

XYI.

THE BLIND Hl^TNTERS.

I)N these Strange Corners a gi-eat many things seem
to be exactly reversed from what we are accus-
tomed to. For instance, "with us '^a hunter's
eye " is a synonym for perfect sight, and we
fancy that if any one in the world needs good
vision it is he who follows the chase. But in the quaint
southwest the most important hunters — and, in the belief
of thousands of the natives, the most successful ones — can-
not see at all ! They are stone-blind, which is not so out of
keeping, after all, since they themselves are stones ! Very
pretty stones are these famous little Nimrods — snowy quartz,
or brilliant agate, or jasper, or a peculiar striped spar which
is found in some parts of New Mexico. That is their body.
Then their eyes are of coral, or blue turquoise from the pre-
historic mines in Mount Chalchuhuitl near Santa Fe ; and
then' hearts are always of turquoise, which is the most pre-
cious thing known to the aborigines of the southwest, for it
is the stone which stole its color from the sky.

" But how can a blind stone with a turquoise heart be a
hunter ? " you ask. Well, that depends on the locality. I do

THE BLIND HUNTERS. 209

not imagine lie would count for much in a Queen's County
fox-chase, but out here he can be a hunter very well. Here
he is the very king of hunters; and no party of Indians
would think for an instant of going out for deer or antelope,
or even rabbits, except under his leadership and with his aid.

These stone hunters are the hunt-fetiches of the Indians.
They are tiny images of the most successful animals of prey —
like the cougar, bear, eagle, and wolf — rudely carved from the
hardest stone into a clumsy but unmistakable likeness. The
image alone is not enough. An arrow-head of agate or vol-
canic glass is always bound with sinew to its right side, and
under the turquoise heart is always a pinch of the sacred
corn-meal. These little stone statues are supposed to com-
municate to those who carry them aU the hunter-craft of the
animal Avhich they represent. Every Indian carries a fetich
when he hunts, and derives its power from it by putting its
mouth to his own and drawing in his breath — "drinking
the breath '' of the image. This ceremony is indispensable
at the beginning of a hunt, and at various stages of its
progress. The favorite hunt-fetich among the Pueblos is
the mountain-lion or cougar, keem-ee-deh, which they deem
the king of animals.

The hunter, when he strikes a trail, takes a forked twig and
places it in front of a footprint, mth the fork opening back-
ward. This is to trip the fleeing game. Then he draws from
his "left-hand bag" (the shoulder-pouch which serves the In-
dian for a pocket) his fetich, inhales its "breath of strength,"
and prays to it — or rather to the animal spirit it represents

210 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

— to help him ; and then, before following the trail, imitates
the roar of his patron-beast, to terrify and bewilder the game.
He fii'mly believes that without these superstitions ceremo-
nials he would stand no chance at all in the hunt, but that
with them he is sui^e to succeed.

It is difficult for us to realize the importance which the
Indian attaches to all matters connected with game. We are
at a point in ci^alization where such things concern us only
as pastimes, but to the Indian the hunt is still the corner-
stone of life, or has been until so recently that he has not
lost the old feeling. A matter so \ital to the human race —
in his eyes — has become the nucleus for a vast quantity of
his most sacred beliefs. The animals which are successful
hunters are objects of reverence, and he is careful to invoke
their aid, that his own pursuit may be as fortunate as theirs.
Indeed, the whole process of hunting is involved in an enor-
mous amount of religious ^^ red-tape" — for you must remem-
ber that the Indian never does anytliiufj simply ^'for fun."
He enjoys many things 5 but he does them not for enjojTnent,
but for a superstitious end.

Even my neighbors, the Pueblos, who have been farmers
and irrigators for unknown centuries, preserve almost un-
abated theu" ancient traditions and usages of the chase, and
a hunt of any sort is a very religious affair, whether it be a
simple foray of two or three men, or one of the great com-
munal hunts in which many hundreds are engaged. One of
their chief In-anches of medicine-men are those who have ab-
solute control of all matters pertaining to game. These are

THE BLIND HUNTERS. 211

named, in the language of the Tigna Pueblos, the Hoo-mah-
JiOon (" those who have death in their arms"). According to
their folk-lore the Hoo-mah-koon were created just after man-
kind emerged from the bowels of the earth, and were the
first of all branches of medicine, except only the Kdli-pee-oo-
nin ("those who are dying of cold," in allusion to the almost
nakedness in which they always make then* official appear-
ance), who broke through the crust of the earth and led theii-
people out to the light.

In the sacred songs of the Hoo-mah-koon of the Pueblo of
Isleta, where I lived for four years, it is declared that they
came here first from the town of the Wolf's Den, one of the
picturesque ruins in the gi^eat plains east of the Manzano
Mountains. The order in Isleta numbers seven men. Be-
ginning in May of every year there is always a series of com-
munal rabbit hunts, one a week for seven weeks. The first
of these hunts is under the command of the senior Hoo-mah-
koo-ee-deh (the singular of Hoo-mah-koon), the second hunt
under the next in rank, and so on until each of the captains
of the hunt has had a day in the order of his seniority.

The official crier of the village announces the night before
that on the morrow will be KaJi-l'H-ah-sJui (the round-hunt),
in stentorian tones which none but the deaf can fail to hear.
That evening the Hoo-mah-koon and other dignitaries hold
Ndli-wlieh (the drawing-dance), to charm the game. The danc-
ing and singing are supposed (though conducted in a house)
to reach and fascinate the ears of all wild animals, so that
they cannot hear the approach of the hunter on the mor-

212 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

row ; and in tlie intervals of the dance all who are present
smoke \igoronsly the iveer, or sacred cigarette, whose clonds
blind the eyes of the game and make them less watchfnl.
The songs sung at the di'awing-dance vary according to the
game to be hunted next day, and always begin \di\\ a refrain
that has no meaning, but is an imitation of the cry of that
animal. Before the gi-eat fall round-hunt for deer and ante-
lope, the song is one which may be translated as follows :

HUNTING SONG.

Beh-eh eh-k'hay-roh,

Beh-eh eh-k'hay-roh.

I am the mountain-lion young man,

Antelope thigh in my house hangs plenty,

Antelope shoulder in my house hangs plenty,

Antelope heart in my house hangs plenty,

I am the mountain-lion yoimg man,

Deer head in my house hangs plenty.

Deer liver in my house hangs plenty,

All deer meat in my house hangs plenty,

I am the mountain-lion young man.

The dance and other services last most of the night. At
the appointed time in the morning the Hoo-mnh-koon repair
to a certain sand-hill on the edge of the plains, about two
miles from the puel^lo, the invariable starting-point for all
hunts to the westward, and thither follow several hundred of
the men and grown boys of the village. At a certain sacred
spot the chief of the Hoo-mah-koon starts a small fire with
the most impressive ceremonies, singing meanwhile a chant

THE BLIND HUNTERS. 213

which relates how fii*e was first discovered and how transmit-
ted— both of which important deeds are credited to the Hoo-
mah-koon. None outside that order — not even a member
of one of the other branches of medicine-men — dare make
that fire, and the chief Hoo-mah-koo-ee-deh must light it
only in the sacred way, namely, with the ancient fire-drill or
mtli flint and steel. He would expect to be struck dead if
he were to kindle it with the impious, new-fangled matches,
which are now used by the Pueblos for all common uses, but
must not enter any sacred ceremony whatever.

When the holy fire is well under way the Hoo-mah-koon
stand around it with bowed heads, invoke the fetiches, and
pray to Those Above to bless the hunt. Then their chief
selects two men to lead the hunt, puts them in front of
all the crowd, instructs them where to close the circle, and
pushes them apart with the command " Go ! " These two
start running in divergent lines. In a moment two more
are started after them, and two more, and so on until all the
hundreds of hunters are in motion along two files like the
arms of a V, the knot of Hoo-mah-koon forming the apex.
The two leaders run on for a designated distance, all the time
getting farther apart, and then begin to_ converge toward one
another until they meet at the appointed spot, frequently a
couple of miles from the starting-point. Meeting, they hold
their clubs in the right hand, pass each other on the same
side and make cross-lines on the gi'ound, by which they stand.

By this time a cordon of hunters in the shape of an ellipse
has been formed by theu^ followers, and now at the signal

214 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

from tlie Hoo-mali-koon the cordon begins to shrink inward,
the old men smoking continually to keep the game blinded.
The hunters are armed only with boomerangs, wliich they
Imrl ^\'ith force and precision that are simj^ly marvelous.
Very little game that has been surrounded thus ever escapes,
even to the swift- winged quail. A dozen or more of these big
surrounds are made in the coiu'se of the day, and all the
game that is killed in the first two goes to the Hoo-mah-koo-
ee-deh who is in command for that day. The Hoo-mah-koon
get their pecuhar name from the fact that as soon as an
animal is killed they sit down and hug it upon theii* laps,
sprinkling it ^^ith the sacred meal.

In the evening, when the successful hunters retui'n to the
pueblo, heavily laden with g/ime, they proceed to the house
of the cacique (the chief religious official) and sing before it
the following song, unchanged from the days when they
hunted the lordliest game on the American continent :

SONG AFTER THE HUNT.

Ah, ee-yah, ee-yah, hay h'yah-ee-ah,
Ah, ee-yah, ee-yah, hay h'yah-ee-ah.
Ah, ee-yah, ee-yah, hay h'yah-ee-ah.
Yonder in the wee-ow-weew-bahn,

[In Indian Territory]
There stays the buffalo,
Commander of beasts,
Him we are dri\4ng
Hither from yonder,
"With him as prey
We are arriving.
With him as prey
Now we come in.

THE BLIND HUNTERS. 215

As the last line is sung, some of tlie hunters enter the
house of the cacique, bearing a present of game.

His own share each hunter carries to his home, and when
the animal is cooked its head is invariably given to him who
kills it. By eating this the hunter is supposed to acquire
something from the animal itself which will make him suc-
cessful in kiUing others of its kind. The Pueblos have a
curious custom concerning rabbits, which are now more nu-
merous than any other game, hundreds being killed in eveiy
round-hunt on the plain. They will not, under any circum-
stances, fry them, nor touch one which has been thus cooked.
The only way in which a True Believer will prepare rabbit is
to ^' make it as people." The animal is skinned and drawn.
Then its long ears are twisted into a knot on top of its head ■
the fore-legs are twisted so that their ankles are under the
"arm-pits,'^ and the hind legs are crossed and pinned be-
hind the back. Why this extraordinary distortion should be
deemed to make poor bunny look " like people," I have never
been able to learn ; nor yet the cause for this custom, except
that it was given them " by those of old," and that the Trues
order it to be continued. After it has been trussed up in
this shape the rabbit is roasted in one of the quaint adobe
out-door ovens, or stewed whole in a big earthen jar with
home-ground corn-meal.

No private party ever thinks of starting on a hunting trip
without fii'st securing the intercession of the Hoo-mah-koon
with Those Above for then* success and safety. When a
number of men decide to go on a hunt, or on any other jour-

216 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

ney, they meet and select the wisest among them to go to
the Hoo-mah-koon and ask them to "give the road." The am-
bassador chosen for this important and honorable mission
at once bids his wife, mother, or sister to prepare the sacred
meal, without which no such request would dare be made of
the medicine-men. She selects and grinds the white or yel-
low corn to meal, and wraps it in the ceremonial corn-husk
wrapper j and the ambassador thus equipped goes with his
request to the chief H6o-mah-koo-ee-deh. The medicine-man
takes the sacred meal with his right hand and holds it all the
time the ambassador is present, and names the night when
he will come to a designated house (that of one of the party),
foretell the fortunes of their journey, and "give the road."

After eight o'clock on the appointed night, which is almost
invariably tlie one before the hunters are to start, all the
Hoo-mah-koon gather at that house, where the hunters are
present with such of their friends as desire to be benefited.
The Hoo-mah-koon go through the usual jugglery of a medi-
cine-dance, and then proceed to forecast the proposed jour-
ney, taking their omens in any number of ways, somewhat
after the fashion of the soothsavers of ancient Greece and
Rome. In one case in my knowledge a prominent Indian
here was going to travel horseback several hundred miles to
trade with the Mescalero Apaches. The chief Hoo-mah-koo-
ee-deh went out and combed the horse that was to be ridden,
and returned with the combings, which he began to sort over
with great solemnity. At last he handed to the traveler a
lot of light hairs with one dark one among them, and said :

THE BLIND HUNTERS. 217

" You are on your way to break the rifle you carry, for the
horse will fall and throw you as you go down a hill. And
you will trade the broken rifle for this dark horse/' pointing
to the one dark hah*. The traveler, who is a very reliable
Indian, and who made one of the best governors the pueblo
ever had, vows that it befell exactly so. His horse threw
him, the rifle was broken in the fall, and he traded it for a
horse the very color of that hair! Who could ask more
convincing proof that the medicine-man had indeed " the
power"?

After the fortunes of the journey have been thus fore-
told all present Join in the following chant. At the w^ords
" Hither ! Hither ! " those who are to travel draw their hands
toward them repeatedly, and the others perform a similar in-
cantation mtli theu' Ijreath. This is intended to " draw to "
the traveler the game or other object of his journey.

SONG BEFORE THE JOURNEY.

Hither! Hither!
This way ! This way !
[Pointing in the direction to be taken.J
Life for-the-sake-of,
Health for-the-sake-of,
Our children for-the-sake-of,
Our animals for-the-sake-of.
Game for-the-sake-of,
Clothing for-the-sake of.
Thus with empty hands
Thus we go out.

As the last two lines are sung all l)rush their left palms
with their right. After this song the Hoo-mah-koon pray to
19

218 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

the Trues to bless tlie jom^ney, and then '^ give the road" —
that is, their official permission to start.

The Pueblos have, by the way, a ''coj^ote telegraph/' which
is used in hunts, and used to be in war, by which they can
impart news or commands several miles by yells which are a
perfect imitation of the coyote Any one who had not learned
the '' code " would imas^ine it merelv the usual concert of the
cowardly Httle wolves of the prame. The cry of the genuine
coyote, too, is always a significant omen to the Pueblo. One
short, shai^p bark is a token of impending danger, and any
party that hears that warning "sa^U at once turn back, no
matter how important its mission. Two short cries close to-
gether mean that some one is dead in the \411age. Three
short successive yelps, followed by the long wail, is under-
stood as sm^e proof that the principals of the town have tried
some person accused of witchcraft and have found a verdict
of guilty ; and so ou.

XVII.

FmiSHING AN INDIAN BOY.

MONG the countless oddities of custom which

prevail in the southwest, perhaps none would

strike my young countrymen as odder than

the gi^aduating exercises of a Pueblo lad. It

is certainly a very different sort of graduation

from any knoT\m to eastern schools ; and I fear a great many

of our bright pupils would fail to pass to the satisfaction

of the examiners.

Among all Indian tribes there is a much more thorough
course of home education than we generally imagine. Any
observant man, if he be half as intelligent as the average
Indian, cannot watch the latter without feeling that this
brown f elloAv has a remarkable scholarshijD of the senses. The
education of eye and ear, and of the perceptive faculties, is
nothing short of marvelous to us, who have not left of any
of these senses a tithe ot the acuteness Nature meant us to
have. But if the observer can get "■ on the inside of things "
and really understand Indian life, he finds a much more re-
markable education in the strange lore of a strange people.

220 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

Such memories are hardly ever found among " civilized '^
people as are common to those who have no books nor
writing to remem'ber for tliem; and it takes such marvelous
memories to retain all that the member of Indian society
must carrv in his head. I have found the studv of the train-
ing of my young Pueblo neighbors very interesting.

The girls are taught little beyond their duties as home-
makers and home-keepers — which is a considerable education
in itself, f<^r the Pueblo woman is a very good house^vdfe.
But the boys all go through a very serious and arduous train-
ing to fit them for the responsibilities of Indian manhood.
Every lad is expected to become an athlete of agihty and en-
dm*ance, to be expei*t in war and the hunt, to know and keep
word for word the endless stories which embody the customs
and laws of his people, and to be educated in many other
ways. His training begins as soon as he can talk and be
talked to 5 and it continues, in greater or less degi-ee, as long
as he Hves. As for the lad who is elected to follow the unat-
tractive life of a medicine-man, he has before hmi one long
curriculum of toil. In all Indian tribes the shamans or
medicine-men are the most important personages — the real
^' power behind the throne," no matter what the outward
form of government. Upon them depends the success of the
farmer, the hunter, the warrior j the}' have to keej) witches
from swooping off the people, to give proper welcome to new-
comers to this world, to cure the sick, and give safeguard
to the departed on their long jom'uey to the Other Country.
Besides the extremely numerous societies of medicine-men,

FINISHING AN INDIAN BOY. 221

there are many other secret orders among the Pueblos ; and
initiation into one or more of these is part of the education
of the young Indian boy.

Some time ago a bright young neighbor and friend of
mine, then twelve years old, was received into the important
order of the Cmn-j)a-huit-la-w^en — who are a sort of police
against witches and armed guards of the Fathers of Medicine.
In his infancy Refugio had been sickly, and to induce the
Trues to spare his life his parents had "given" him to the
gray-headed chief of the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen. This old sha-
man thus became Refugio's " medicine-father," and used to
visit him regularly — for the boy continued to live with his
real parents. This giving for adoption into an order or into
another clan is common among the Pueblos. It does not at
aU break np the home ties, but merely gives the boy an extra
godfather as it were. The first day after the adoption, the
old shaman came in person, inquired as to the boy's health,
held him awhile in his arms, prayed for him, and went away.
Next day the second in authority of the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen
called and did likewise; the third day, the third in rank;
and so on until every member of the order had made his
ceremonial visit. Then the chief shaman began again, and
after him day by day came his medicine-brothers in the order
of their rank. These formal visits had been kept up dail}^,
through all these years, with al)solute punctuality, until Re-
fugio was deemed old enough to become a full member of
the lodge into which he had been adopted. All this time, of
conrse, he had been under the general tuition of the order ;

222 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

and his "brothers" had given him a general education — but
had not intrusted him ^yith their special secrets.

Wlien at last his initiation was decided upon, he was made
to keep a solemn fast for twenty-four hours. Then, after
undo^^Ti, he was led by his medicine-father to the medicine -
house, where the whole order of Cum-pa-huit-la-wen were
already assembled.

Removing their moccasins at the door, the old chief and
the lad entered the low, dark room — lighted only by the
sacred iii^e, whose flickering embers flung ghostly shadows
across the dark rafters — and stood before the solemn semi-
circle of squatting men. Standing there with bowed head,
the medicine-father prayed to the Trues of the East, the
Trues of the North, th(^ Trues of the West, the Trues of the
South, the Trues Above and the Trues Here-in-the-Center.
So punctilious is Pueblo superstition that it would be deemed
an infamy to address their six cardinal points in any other
order. Only a witch would ever think of naming first North,
then West, South, etc. Ha\dng thus invoked the blessing of
all the deities, the old man took the trembling lad by the
hand and said to his fellows : " Brothers, friends, this is my
son. From now, he is to take our road. Receive him and
teach him in the ways of the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen."

"It is well," replied the others. ^'Ah-Jilai! Sit down on
what ye have."

The old man and Refugio placed theii* moccasins and
shoulder-blankets upon the bare adobe floor, and seated

FINISHING AN INDIAN BOY. 223

themselves thereon. It would be an unheard-of sacrilege for
an Indian to occnpy a chaii' or bench upon any such sacred
occasion. He must sit only "upon what he has" — and if it
be summer, when no bhinket is worn, his moccasins are his
only seat.

Then the chief shaman's first assistant — had the boy been
adopted by any of the others, the chief himself would have
officiated now — prepared and handed them the weer, or
sacred cigarette. The ordinary cigarette of tobacco rolled
in a bit of corn-husk or brown paper, which is commonly
smoked for pleasure, is never used in a rehgious ceremony.
The iveer can be lighted only at the sacred fire • and having
kindled his at the coals, Refugio began to puff slowly, as he
had been directed. This smoke-trying is always the fii'st duty
of a candidate, and it is no mean test of the earnestness of his
desire to " take the road." He must smoke the tveer down to
its last whiff and inhale every particle of smoke, not a sus-
picion of which must escape from his mouth. The fii'st three
or four whiffs almost invariably make him deathly sick, but
it is very rarely indeed that he fails to smoke to the end. In
almost all folk-stories wherein the hero goes into the pres-
ence of the Trues for any assistance — a very common part
of the plot of these m;y"ths — he is tried with the iveer first, to
see if he be enouo*h of a man for it to be worth the while
of the Trues to attend to his case. Sometimes the trial of
his faith is long-drawn and harromng in its severity, but
it always begins mth the smoke test.

224 SOME. STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

Kefugio did bravely. Very soon the soft olive of liis young
face tm-ned gray ; l:>nt lie puffed away impassively at the pun-
gent reed until he had finished the last whiff.

'^ AJi-fif-mee-Jiee ! He wins his com*se ! " said the fii'st as-
sistant shaman. Then, with prayers by all, the cleansing
with warm water was given Refugio, and he was bidden to
stand erect, while the master of ceremonies said encourag-
ingly : ^' So far, you show that you will follow om^ road.'^

Standing, now, the lad was ordered to make a prayer to
all the Trues — no small task, since their number is legion
and they must be addressed only in the jiroper order of their
rank. AATienever Refugio stumbled or was at a loss, the first
assistant prompted him ; and he had to go over and over
that enormous list until he knew it perfectly.

Now he Avas made to sit down upon his moccasins, with
his knees di'awn up under his cliin, to learn the songs of
the order — which are of great number. He began with
the gi^eat song to T'hoo-ree-deh, the Sun-Father — which he
learned in less than half the time it afterward took me to
master it. It is a very important and impressive song, and
is sung by the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen whenever they escort the
cacique to a great ceremony. A translation of it is as follows
(leaving out the many repetitions and meaningless refrains) :

THE SONG OF THE SUN.

O Sun, our Father,

Sun-Man,

Sun-Commander,

Father, a prayer-stick we tie.

FINISHIXG AN INDIAN BOY. 225

Father, on the road stand ready ;
Father, take your way ;
Father, arrive ;
Father, come in ;
Father, be seated.

The learning of all those songs was a serious matter, and
Refugio mastered only a few that night. The next day at
sundown — after another fast — he resumed his labors, and
so on every night until he had all the songs by heart. After
the last one was learned came the ceremony of TJio-a-sJiur, the
Receiving. The boy stood mth bowed head in the center of
the room, while the master of ceremonies gave him the cere-
monial embrace — putting his right arm over Refugio's left
shoulder, and his left arm under Refugio's right — and prayed
that all the Trues woidd bless the new Cum-pa-huit-la-wdd-
deh. Then Refugio w^as embraced in tu^'n l^y his medicine-
father and all the other members, and was given to drink of
Fkih-ciiin-p'alij the Sacred Water — a secret mixtm'e which
has a sweet smell but no taste.

Now came the last severe test of Refugio's faith. He was
seated, no longer in front of, but in, the semicircle of Cum-
pa-huit-la-wen, who sat solemnly with their official bows and
arrows in their hands. For all secular purposes the Indians
now use the latest and best fii'e-arms ; but only bows and
arrow^s can be admitted to rehgious ceremonials. The oldest
member of the lodge began to recite the history and customs
of the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen, from the very beginning, when
mankind came out from the Black Lake of Tears, down to
the present day. For forty-nine hours this recital was con-

22 G SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

tinued without rest, the elder shamans taking turns in tell-
ing ; and all that weary time the boy had to keep awake and
intent, answering at the proper points ^^ Talj-Mon-nam — is
that so ? " Once, when he nodded, the nearest man gave him
a sharp punch in the ribs with the end of his bow.

When Refugio had passed this last ordeal with credit, he
was again embraced, and the official announcement was made
that he was now a full Cum-pa-huit-la-^^dd-deh. Had he
failed in any of these tests — so hard upon the endurance of
a young boy — he woidd have been told to "take the heart
of a man" (be brave) and try again; and the second trial
would have been given him in a few days. The neo2)hyte's
struggles with his sickness and sleejjiness are sometimes very
comical; but the men never smile at him — indeed, their
treatment of him is invariably very kind, as is their conduct
toward children under all circumstances.

Refugio was now technically " finished " or graduated, but
his tasks were by no means done. He has before him a life-
time of hard and patient study, infinite practice, and fre-
quent self-denial. To acquii'e that marvelous legerdemain
which gives the medicine-men their chief prestige is a matter
of years of persevering practice. He will have, too, to go
through innumerable fasts — some of them for as long as
eight days — and many other mortifications of the flesh. The
life of a medicine-man is as far as possible from an easy one.
The responsibility for the welfare of the whole pueblo — here
nearly twelve hundred souls — rests upon his shoulders ; and
at the cost of his own comfort and health he must secure

FINISHING AN INDIAN BOY. 227

blessings for his people and avert all ill from tliem. His
rewards are very few, and entirely disproportionate, except
the universal respect wliich he commands.

Refugio, by the way, has now earned the proud privilege
of smoking. He often comes to me for the w^herewithal to
roll the little browai cigarettes of the country in his slender
fingers. How rare a privilege this is for so young a boy,
under the rigid Pueblo etiquette, you will understand better
when I have told you something about tlieii* notions on the
subject of smoking.

XYIII.

THE PRAYING SMOKE.

|HE use of the pipe of peace by tlie Indians of
the East, who have disappeared before the el-
bowing of onr ancestors the earth-hungry, is
familiar to every reader ; l)ut few are aware how
widespread is still the importance of smoking
among the surviving tribes of the continent. In the south-
west, where the Indian has held his own since the more mer-
ciful Spanish conquest — for the real history of later days
proves that the Spaniards w^ere not the merciless biiites they
were so long termed — the calumet had never any real place,
though a few stone pipes have been found here. The cigar-
ette is the official form of the weed, and its importance is
surprising. In religion, in war, in the chase, and in society
it occupies a highly responsible position. It is more to the
Indian than is salt to the Arab — equal as a hospitable bond,
and extending to countless other uses to which the Ai*abian
salt is never promoted.

I should not wish to be understood as saying these things
of the abominable little white cvhnders famihar to the East.
Neither Indian nor Mexican has quite fallen to those. The

THE PRAYING SMOKE. 229

cigarro of tlie soiitliwest is not a pestilence. Its component
parts are a pinch of granulated tobacco, a bit of sweet-corn
husk, or (specially made) bro^Ti paper and a twist of the
wrist.

In my studies in New Mexico I have been much interested
in the sacred smoke. It recurs everywhere. There is hardly
a folk-story among the Pueblo Indians in which it does not
figure prominently. Not a prayer is offered nor a ceremonial
conducted without its aid. But for it the land ivoidd be
burned up with drought, and the population harpied away
bodily by evil spirits. No one thinks of being born or dying
without the intervention of the cigarette, and to aU the in-
termediate phases of life it is equally indispensable. And as
befits so vital an article of faith, it is surrounded bv rie^id
restrictions. Thus much is common also to the Mexican
population. A Mexican boy would as soon think of putting
his head in the fii'e as of smoking before his parents, if he
dared smoke at all — which is very seldom. Manv a time on
a weary march I have offered the bit of corn-husk and the
pinch of tobacco to an old man, who accepted gratefully, and
another to his grown-up son, who politely but firmly declined,
though I could see he was dying for a smoke ; and he w^ould
deny himself till night, when he could sneak off up the canon
with the precious luxuries and grunt with joy as he puffed
away in loneliness and gloom. And many a time I have seen
a full-grow^i man, with mature children of his owai, burn his
fingers in hastily pinching out his cigarette at the unexpected
approach of his aged father or mother. Mexican women
20

230 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

may smoke after their marriage, but of course with, the same
restriction.

With the Indians the lines are more closely drawn. A
woman is not to think of smoking. I have known a case
where an Indian gh-l, who had learned this and other bad
habits from the superior race, was caught by her parents
with a cigarette in her mouth ; and her tongue was slit at
the tip as a warning against such unladylike tricks. The
Pueblo lad dare not smoke even bv himself before he is
twenty-five years old, unless he has estal)lished his warlike
prowess by taking a scalp,* or has been given " the freedom
of the smoke " upon acquiring full membership in one of the
branches of medicine-men, like Refugio. And even then he
must not smoke in presence of his parents or any one who is
his senior, without then* du*ect permission, which is very sel-
dom given.

In all Pueblo dealings with their brethren and other In-
dians the cigarette is a flag of tnice, a covenant, a bond
whose sanctitv was never violated. When a Pueblo meets
any heathen Indian — for all Pueblos rank themselves as
Christians — his fii\st act is to toss him the httle ^?<r/Je of
tobacco with a corn-husk. He never hands it. If the
stranger pick up the offering, there is unl)reakaT)le peace
between them, and they sit do^^ii and smoke the sacred
smoke in amity, though their respective people may be at
war. If an Indian went out to slay his bitterest foe and

* Of course it is now a great while since they have earned the privi-
lege thus.

THE PRAYING SMOKE. 231

in a tliouglitless moment accepted a cigarette from liim, lie
would have to forego the coveted scalp.

It is only recently that I have Ijeen able to settle the
mooted question whether the Indians of the southwest
smoked before the Spaniards camCj three hundred and fifty
years ago, for these Indians did not have tobacco until after
the conquest. This late but conclusive evidence establishes
the fact that they did smoke. The ancient substitutes for
tobacco were two herbs known in Tigua as hu-a-ree and p-ee-
en-lilcli. They are much more aromatic than tobacco, but
do not, as the Indians observe, "make drunk so much'' as
oui' weed. I have been unable to get green specimens of the
plants for classification. The dried leaves are brought great
distances from certain spots in the mountains.

In the primitive cigarette, which the Tiguans call tveer, no
paper was used, of coiu'se, for this country was then inno-
cent of paper ; nor were corn-husks. The iveer was made by
punching out the pith of a reed conmion in the Rio Grande
vaUey, and ramming the hoUow full of p'ee-en-hleh or ku-a-
ree. All ceremonial cigarettes are so made still; for the
brown paper or oja smoke is "not good" for rehgious mat-
ters. The reed, how^ever, may be filled mth tobacco instead
of the older weeds and still be efficacious.

Himself an altogether matchless observer, the Indian is
equally adept at eluding observation. If he has a secret
duty to perform when you are around, he "wall do it be-
fore your very face with such sang-froid and such wizardly
sleight of hand that you will never di'eam what he is doing,

232 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

or that lie is doing anything out of the ordinary. I had
watched the sacred-smoke prayer ten thousand times with-
out the remotest susj)icion of it, and my observation was nei-
ther indifferent nor without the sharpening which association
with Indians must give the dullest senses. It was only after
a hint, and when I came one day to see — myself unseen —
an old Indian lighting his cigarette, and noticed that each
of the first six puffs was sent in a different direction, that I
began to suspect a ceremony and to w^atch for further proof.
Then I saw that every smoker did the same thing, though,
when in compan}^, with an infinite precaution which made it
almost imperceptible. The world is full of evil spirits —
nothing else is so ever-present in the Indian mind as the
fear of witches — and these must be propitiated as weU as the
Trues. This cardinal smoking at the outset of the cigarette
is both an offering to the Trues and exorcism of witches.

It is the collective smoke of the sacred iveer that forms the
rain-clouds and brings the rain. Tobacco smoke has not this
virtue. In the spring medicine-making, when the year is to
be foretold, and at any special medicine-making that may be
had to stave off a threatened di'ought, the whole junta indus-
triously smokes iveeVj to help with its cloud-compeUing vapor
in the answer of theu" own prayers for rain. Since in the
preparation for one of these ceremonials the medicine-men
have to shut themselves up in the medicine-house for from
four to eight days — never gomg out, nor eating, nor moving
from theii' appointed seats, and mth no relief save drinking
water and smoking — tlieu' united efforts in that time make

THE PRAYING SMOKE. 233

a cloud surely sufficient in volume^ whatever may l^e its
capacities for precipitation.

I have ah'eady told you of the " di'awing-dance '' before
every hunt, wherein the weer is smoked to blind the eyes
of the game j and that in the hunt itself a steady smoking
is kept up by the shamans of the chase for the same piu'-
pose. The iveer also figures in all medicine-makings, to dispel
witches and for other purposes. In looking into the magic
cajete, the Father of All Medicine stoops and blows the sacred
smoke slowly across the water in that important bowl, and it
is then that he can see in that cmious miiTor (so he says) all
that is going on in the world. The manner in which the film
of vapor hovers upon the water or curls up from it in hasty
spirals indicates whether the year vnR be calm or windy.
This smoke mirror is also particularly used in the detec-
tion of witches, whom it reveals in theii' evil tricks, however
hidden.

When one is sick the male head of the family ^\T:'aps a few
pinches of tobacco in a corn-husk, ties the packet with a corn-
husk string, and with this offering goes to the medicine-man
and requests him to come and cure the invalid. And it is a
sovereign fee — a shaman whose services you cannot hii'e by
whatsoever present of money or valuables cannot refuse your
request if you come to him with an offering of the weed.
This certainly indicates a freedom from avarice which the
professional men of more civihzed races do not always imi-
tate, for the Indian is as fond of his family as are any of us,
and would pay his last pony and last silver necklace for the

234 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

curing of his sick if it were demanded. Indeed, the whole
shaman code of ethics is a very creditable one.

The ceremonial weer dare not be lighted with a match or
at a common blaze. It can be ignited onl}- from the sacred
fii'C in the estnfa, a coal from the cacique's house, a flint and
steel, or the ancient fii'e-drill, which is here a di'v, round stick

/ 7 V 7

fitting tightly into a ca\ity in the end of another, and re-
volved rapidly from right to left (even in so trivial a matter
as this the wi'ong order must be avoided) until the hollow is
sufficiently hot to ignite the pi'imitive tinder under a coaxing
breath. Yerv old men who are True Believers still dislike
to light even their j^leasure cigarettes in the suspicious mod-
ern ways, and A\'ill, if possible, pluck a coal in their skinny
fingers to start the precious smoke.

When a person dies here, the medicine-men, who come to
insure the safety of the departed on his four days' journey to
the other world, j^erform very intricate and mysterious rites,
very largely designed to hide his trail fi'f)m the e\nl S2)irits,
who would otherwise be sure to follow and harass him, and
would very likely succeed in switching him off altogether
from the happy land and into " the place where devils are."
Among other thiugs the l)ody is surrounded during these
four daj'S with the tracks of the road-runner * to lead the
witches on a false trail, and the sacred smoke is continuously
blown about that they may not see which way the departed

went.

* A small pheasant.

XIX.

THE DANCE OF THE SACRED BARK.

E would hardly look for refinements of language
among Indians, but, like many of om' otlier
notions about them, this is not fully correct.
They do use euphemisms, and invent pleasant-
sounding phrases for unpleasant things. One
of the best examples of this is the manner in which they
speak of one of their most savage customs. They hardly ever
talk of scalps or scalping ; instead of those harsh words they
have very innocent paraphrases. Among my Tigua neigh-
bors this ghastly trophy is spoken of as " the sacred hair,"
or "the oak-bark," or "the sacred bark" — all very natural
Indian metaphors. An important folk-story of Isleta relates
how two boys who smoked before they had proved themselves
men were reproved by their grandfather, a wise old medicine-
man. He told them that before they could be allowed to
smoke they must go to the Eagle Feather Mountains (the
Manzano range), and« bring him some of the " bark of the
oak." The youths went out in all innocence and peeled the
bark from several trees, and were greatly chagrined when
their grandfather sternly told them to go and try again. At

236 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

last a wise mole solved the riddle for them, and dii'ected them
against a band of maranding Navajos, from whose heads the
boys got the '' bark " which entitled them thereafter to the
privilege of smoking.

It is a good many years since my kindly "friends and
fellow-citizens" of the pneblo of Isleta have taken a scalp,
and they were never universal snatchers of " the sacred hau*."
All their traditions assure me that they never did have the
habit of scalping Americans, Mexicans, or Pueblo Indians —
no Christians, in fact — but only the heathen savages who
surrounded them, and for so many bloody centm'ies harassed
and murdered ceaselessly these quiet village people. More-
over, it has always been against their rule to seal]) the women
of even these barbarous foes.

Some eighteen years must have gone by since the last
scalps were brought to Isleta. One of them came at the
belt of my pleasant next-door neighbor, Bartolo Jojola. He
is one of the official Delight-Makers, or Ko-sM-re, and fully
competent to hold his own with any civilized clown of the
ring. A band of Comanches from over the mountains to the
east stole silently into the pueblo one stormy midnight to
steal what stock they might. A lot of horses were in a
strong corral of pahsades, whose tops were bound with u'on-
like ropes of rawhide. One Comanche climl)ed quietly into
the inclosm'e, with the end of a lasso in his hand. He at
that end, and a companion outside, sawed the rope back and
forth until the rawhides were cut. Then several posts were
uprooted, the horses were led out, and off went the robbers

THE DANCE OF THE SACRED BARK. 237

and tlieir booty without arousing any one. But at daybreak
— for my friends are very early risers — the alarm was given.
A posse was organized and followed the robbers across the
Rio Grande, across the twenty-mile plateau east of us, and
over the ten-thousand-foot Manzano Mountains. At last
they overtook the raiders on the edge of the great plains,
and there was a fierce fight. The Comanches, who were, as a
tribe, the best horsemen America has ever seen, resorted to
their favorite tactics of savage and repeated cavahy charges.
The Isletehos, though admirable riders, were no match on
horseback for these Centaiu's of the plains, so they dis-
mounted and received the charge on foot. So effective was
the fii'e of their flint-locks that the Comanches took to flight.
The Isletenos recovered the stolen horses, besides capturing
many new ones and a dozen scalps.

Since then there have been none of these ghastly trophies
brought to Isleta ; and yet the scalp plays an important part
in the ceremonials of the village, and in a secret niche in the
wall of the dark, round estufa rests a priceless horde of the
sacred " barks," wliich are still taken out and danced over at
then' due season.

The Indian does not take a scalp through cruelty, but
just as ci\dlized soldiers fight for and preserve the captm-ed
battle-flags of the enemy, as trophies and proofs of j)i'owess
in war. Not being refined enough to see the barbarity of
taking a physical trophy, he does very much what civilized
nations did not many centuries ago, when ghastly heads on
pikes were no uncommon sight ; and he takes it chiefly be-

238 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

cause he believes that with it the valor and skill of the former
possessor become his own.

The scalp is taken by making a rongh circle of slashes
aronncl the skull, and then tearing off the broad patch of
skin and hair by main force. It is a very di'eadful opera-
tion, never to be forgotten by those who have once seen it.
The trophy must be ciu^ed by Mm who took it, which he pro-
ceeds to do with the utmost care. Many magical powers are
supposed to reside in the scalp. Even a third party who
touches it, by accident or design, becomes possessed of some
of its vii-tues, though he is thereljy also forced to certain
temporary self-denials.

Wlien a war-party retm-ns to the pueblo with scalps it is
a very serious matter. They cannot enter the town, nor can
their anxious families come out to meet them. If they have
been westward after the Apaches, Navajos, or Utes, they
make a solemn Ijalt on the center of the Hill of the Wind, a
volcanic peak twelve miles west of here ; and if to the east
after Comanches, they stop at a corresponding i:)oint on their
retm-n on the east side of the Kio Grande. There they camp
with the scalps, and send one-half their number forward to
the pueblo, where they dare not go to their homes, but repair
at once to the cacique, and make their report to him. For
fom'teen days the half who are out on the hills keep their
camp, sending out scouts daily to the lookouts in the lava
peaks to guard against the approach of an enemy ; and the
half who have come to town are secluded in the estufa, fast-
ing and forbidden any intercoui'se with their families. At

THE DANCE OF THE SACRED BARK. 239

the end of tliis two weeks the warriors who have been shut
up in the estufa march out and relieve their companions in
camp, staying there with the scalps while the others come in
to fast in the estufa. After fourteen days more the men in
camp start toward town, those from the estufa meet them
half-way, and all enter the pueblo singing "man-songs"
(songs of war), and carry the scalps first to the cacique and
then to the estufa.

Then begins another period of fasting and self -purification
— twelve days for those who have touched a scalp in any
way, and eight days for those who have not. Every act is
regulated with the most minute and scrupTilous care. The
estufa is always siuTounded with the utmost sacredness, and
its etiquette is more punctilious than anything we know of.
The estufa is a building by itself, round and low, with a
diameter of from forty to fifty feet. It has no doors in the
sides, but is reached by ladders from ground to roof, and
from the roof by another ladder down through a trap-door
to the interior. The interior of the estufa is a plain, circular
room, vdth. walls bare, save for a few antlers and rude paint-
ings of the sacred animals. One must not forget himself in
entering the estufa. Reaching the roof, he must approach
the trap-door from the west side, back down the ladder, turn
to his right when at the bottom, and make a complete circuit
of the room, a foot from the wall, ere he takes his seat in the
semicircle around the sacred fire. If he were thoughtlessly
to turn to the left in any of these maneuvers, it would be
sure death ; for the Trues would let loose on him the ghost

240 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

of the scalped man, who, clad only in a dark blue breech-
clout and with a lasso coiled over his shoulder, would chase
and touch him, whereupon he would fall dead ! When they
come to leave the estufa they approach the foot of the lad-
der from the left, and on reaching the roof tui*n to the right,
walk around the roof, and finally descend to the ground
backward, in hard-earned safetv.

The seat of the cacique is at the west side of the fli*eplace ;
that of his first assistant opposite him on the east, and the
acolvtes fill the semicircle between. In a semicircle around
these are the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen, who are guards of the es-
tufa ; and in successive semicircles come all the rest of the
audience. All face away from the fii*e until the cacique rises
and speaks, when all face toward it, and so remain through
the rest of the session. This sacred fire is made only by the
Hoo-mah-koon, and must l)e started mth only the sacred
fii'e-di'ill or flint and steel. Most of the men present smoke,
but never use matches. Tlieir cigarettes must be liglited only
at the sacred fire.

After the days of preparation in this punctihous spot, the
scal2:)-takers and other warriors emerge to hold the Thi-a-
fi(-ar, or '^ Mad Dance," in commemoration of their victory.
The dance — wliich is never allowed to be witnessed by
strangers — is held in a small square near the estufa. The
dancers are formed in two lines, facing each other, with
alternate men and women. The men are in their war paint,
and each carries a bow and arrow in his left hand, and in liis
right a single arrow wdth the point upward. The women

THE DANCE OF THE SACRED BARK. 241

wear their gayest dresses and silver ornaments, bnt carry
notliing in their hands. All the dancers move in perfect
rhythm to the monotonous chant of the singers and the
thump, thump of the big aboriginal drum. The chant is a
metrical account of the battle and the manner in which the
scalps were taken.

As soon as the dance is fairly under way, the " Bending
Woman" makes her appearance. She is the official custo-
dian of the scalps ; has taken them from theu* sealed hiding-
place in the estufa, and brushed them carefully mtli a sacred
broom made in the mountains ; and now carries them in a
buckskin on her back, bending forward under the weight of
their importance. As the dancers perform their evolutions
she walks slowly and solemnly up and down between their
lines with her precious bui'den.

This Mad Dance lasts foiu^ entire days. About seven
o'clock on the evening of the last day comes KJnir-sliu-ar,
the concluding Round Dance. A big bonfire is lighted, and
the two parallel Hues of dancers deploy around it until they
form a large circle, the principal singers dropping out of the
ranks, and clustering around the drummer Ijeside the fire.

The song of the Round Dance is one of the prettiest of all
sung by the Pueblos. It really is melodious and " catching.'^
At the end of every phrase the effect is heightened by a cho-
rus of high yells, in imitation of the war-whoop or '^ enemy-
yell." Some of the older dancers, to whom the ceremony
recalls real memories of their own, add doleful wails like
those of the wounded. The whole performance is weird, but
21

242 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

not savage seeming. It has become merely a ritual — not a
rehearsal of ferocity.

The chant and the dancing are kept up all night, until sun-
rise ends the celebration. All then repair to the estuf a ; the
Bending Woman puts the scalps back in their niche, covers
it with a flat slab of stone, and seals it over mth mud.

The chief of the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen, after a solemn silence,
says, '' Brothers, friends, a road is given you " (that is, " You
are free to depart "), and all file out, free to break their long
abstinence, and enjoy themselves until the war-captain shall
again summon them to the field.

Now that no fresh scalps have been acquired for so long,
the old ones are still brought forth at a fixed time, and do
duty, as the inspiration of the T'u-a-fu-ar. This dance, how-
ever, like many of the other old customs, is not so well kept
up in Isleta as in some of the more remote pueblos which
have not ))een so much affected by civilization. The T'u-a-
fii-ar which I witnessed here in the fall of 1891 was the first
the Isletefios had had in four years, though it should be held
yearly. There was another in 1892.

XX.

DOCTORING THE YEAR.

ilTH the Pueblo Indians the sick are not the
only ones in need of doctoring. The medicine-
men— those most important of Indian person-
ages— have for patients not only sick people
but well ones, and even the crops and the whole
year's success. It would seem to a civilized physician a
ridiculous affau* to prescribe for the seasons and to feel the
pulse of the corn-fields ; but my aboriginal neighbors see no
incongruity in it. On the contrary, they deem this profes-
sional treatment of inanimate things as essential a matter as
the care of the sick, and would have no hopes at all for the
success of any year which was not duly provided for at the
start by a most solemn dose of " medicine."

"Medicine" to an Indian has not merely the restricted
sense in which we use it. Wahr (the word used by the Tig-
uas) means almost every dnfluence of every sort that aifects
the human race. The Indian has no idea of blind chance or
unintelligent forces. To him everything is sentient ; every
influence which is agi*eeable in its effects is a good spii'it or

244 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

tlie work of a good spiiit j and every iuflnence wliicli harms
him is, or comes from, an evil spuit. All these influences
are " medicines j" and so also, in a secondary sense, are the
material agencies used to invoke or check them. The med-
icine-men, therefore, are people with supposed supernatural
powers, who use good influences (either visible remedies or
spiritual means) to bring welfare to the people and avert evil
from them. A medicine-man has also power over the bad
influences ; but if he were to use that power to harm people
he would be said to ^^have the evil road," and would be
regarded no longer as a medicine-man, but as a witch — for
the obligation to do good deeds only is doubly strong upon
those who have powers not given to other men.

There are in the pueblo of Isleta countless medicine-mak-
ings, little and great, general and special; but the two most
important ones of the year are the KSpring Medicine-Making
(or Medicine-Dance, as it is often called) to make the season
prosperous, and the Medicine-Dance of thanksgiving to the
good spirits, after the fall crops are harvested.

The Spring Medicine-Making, which is called in this lan-
guage TH-sliee-ivhn, is held generally about the middle of
March, when the mild winter of the Rio Grande valley is
practically done, and it is time to begin opening the gi'eat
ii'rigating ditches, and other spring work. Every smallest
detail is conducted with the utmost secrecy ; and gentle as
these peoi^le are, the safety of an American who should be
caught spying upon any of these secrets would be very
small indeed. For personal reasons it is impossible for me

DOCTORING THE YEAE. 245

to diviilge liow I learned the following facts, hut I can per-
sonally vouch for all of them.

When it is felt to be tune to forecast and propitiate the
year, the first step in the matter is taken by the Chief Cap-
tain of War and his seven sub-captains. They come together
at liis house ; and he sends out the sub-captains to notify all
the different branches of medicine-men — of which there are
many. Each branch of medicine sends a delegate to the
meeting, which proceeds to consider the best manner of tak-
ing the fii'st formal step — the presentation of the sacred corn-
meal to the Kah-ahm Ch'oom-nin, the two Heads of All Medi-
cine. The matter is fully discussed, and is finally put to vote
of the meeting. As a rule the Chief Captain of War is chosen
for this most important mission — unless he chances to be
very ignorant of the necessary ceremonial songs, in which
rare event one of the sub-captains is selected.

On the day after this meeting — which can be held only
after sundo^\ai — the chosen war-captain, with his associate
next in rank, must perform the errand. Dui'ing the day the
wife, mother, or sister of the senior of them carefidly selects
the best ears from her store of corn, and in a dark room
grinds a handful into meal, on the metate (stone hand-mill),
all the time praying that the errand of the sacred meal may
be successfid.

After sundown the ambassador wi^aps this l)it of meal
carefully in a clean square of corn-husk, and ties the packet
with a corn-husk string. With this in his right hand he
walks gfavely to the house of the Head of All Medicine.

246 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

There are two of these dignitaries in this puel)lo, one rep-
resenting the Isletehos proper, and the other the Qneres*
colony here. They always begin as members of some special
medicine order, but are promoted by degrees, until they leave
then* original orders altogether and become the two general
and supreme heads of all the orders. To only one of these
— the "Father of Here" — does the embassy go.

Entering the house, the bearer of the meal and his assist-
ant sit down l)v the fire with the Father of Here, smoke
the sacred cigarette to ward off evil spirits, and talk awhile
on general inatters. After a cigarette or two, the visitors
rise and pray to the Trues on all sides to gi'ant them success.
The Father of Here of coui'se knows all the time what is
coming, l)ut pretends not to hear them at all. Having fin-
ished tlieir prayers, they turn to address him directly, telling
liim he is desii-ed to make Tu-shee-wim (medicine ''for all the
village "), to see if the year will l)e good, and to drive away
evil spirits. Then the senior captain hands him the packet
of sacred meal, which is always proffered and taken with the
right hand only. For either of them to use the left hand
in this (or any other) ceremonial would be sure death ! As
long as the visitors remain, the Father of Here must hold
the meal in his hand. After they are gone, he walks to the
house of the Father of the Queres and shares it Avith him —
unless it is already too late at night, in which case he does
not go until after sundown the next day.

The morning after both the Heads of All Medicine have

* Pronounced Kdij-rcss.

DOCTORING THE YEAR. 247

the sacred meal, they meet before sunrise at a point in the
sand-hills east of the river. As the sun comes up over the
Eagle Feather Mountains, they pray to the Sun-Father long
and earnestly. Each now holds the sacred meal in his left
hand, and each as he invokes some blessing on the people takes
with his right hand a little pinch of the meal, l^reathes on it
and tosses it toward the sun, until the meal is all gone. They
pray that the Trues will send al^undant rain, make the crops
large, give plenty of grass for the herds, send good health
to the village, etc. And when the meal has all been blowai
away, they return to the village and summon together their
respective original medicine orders. With this morning be-
gin the eight days of abstinence, piu'ification, and preparation
for the great event. Only the two special branches of medi-
cine-men have to keep this ceremonial. The first four days
are the "■ Outside Days," when the medicine-men may move
alDOut the puel)lo and \dsit friends, l)ut must keep their
special fast. Then come the four " Inside Days," and mth
the beginning of these the medicine-men enter the medicine-
house. There each is given a special seat, from which he
must not move until the four days are over. In front of
each stands a fiuaja (jar) of water; and he may drink as
much as he chooses, but must not touch a mouthfid of food
in all those days, nor must a ray of sunlight strike him. The
Common Mother, Kai-id-deh, the mfe of the Head of All
Medicine, is the only other soul who can enter that solemn
room ; and she sweeps it, l)rings them water and tobacco for
cigarettes, and a sacred coal to light them. Day and night

248 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

the f asters sit and smoke^ the older men rehearsing the tradi-
tions of the order for the benefit of the younger, who must
learn all these stories by heart. During all this time, no
other person dare even call at the door. At about ten o'clock
in the morning of the fom'th Inside Day, any Americans or
other strangers who may chance to be in town are sent out
or shut up under a good-natured but inflexil)le sentinel.
Then the coast is clear for the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen. Four
paii\s of these marshals are sent out, one pair to each cardinal
point. In passing through the viUage they wear blankets,
but once outside, cast these off and go running swiftly, clad
only in their moccasins and the breech-clout. Besides theii'
inseparable bows and arrows — the insignia of their office —
each pair of guards carries a single " prayer-stick " which has
been made that morninji: by the Head of All Medicine. Tliis
j)rayer-stick is a bit of wood about tlie size of a lead-pencil,
with certain magical feathers bound to it in a certain way,
yar}^ng according to the object to be prayed for.

The guards carry these prayer-sticks a long distance, plant
them upright in some lonely and sheltered spot east, north,
west, and south of the callage, pray over them, and then set
out on a long, wild run across country. At last they re-
turn to towm across the fields and gardens (for these Indians
are most industrious farmers) " blownng away the witches."
Each guard carries a long feather in either hand, and as he
nms homeward he is continually crossing these and snapping
one over the other — which is supposed to toss up all evil
spiiits so that the winds will bear them away.

DOCTORING THE YEAR. 249

The medicine-making (or "dance") begins about eight
o'clock that evening in the room where the f asters have kept
theii* Inside Days. Before the doors are opened, the medi-
cine-men remove their ordinary garments — for medicine-
making mnst be done with only the dark-blue breech-clout
— and paint their faces w^ith yeso (a dingy whitewash made
from gy[)sum) and ahnagve (a red mineral paint). The
Father of All Medicine is marked with the yeso print of a
bare hand on the outside of each thigh, and on the chest ;
and the two medicine-men who are to be the fii'st perform-
ers— always the tAVO who have last been received into the
order — are indicated by yeso lightnings on their legs, as a
symb(jl that they are the forerunners.

When the door is opened, the people outside remove their
moccasins and stand motionless. The medicine-men sing, and
the Father of All Medicine goes out to the public. Then he
chooses the principal man of them all — always the cacique
if that functionary is present — tm^ns his back to liim, and
puts the tips of the eagle-feathers he carries back over his
own shoulders. The cacique takes these tij)S in his hands,
and is thus led into the room followed in single fde by the
people. He is given the " seat of honor " nearest the medi-
cine-men ; and the general j^i^blic seats itself at will outside
a line which has been llrawn on the adobe floor about ten
feet in front of the medicine-men, sitting only on moccasins
and blankets. The sliamans are seated in a semicircle, fac-
ing the public. The Father of All Medicine sits in the cen-
ter, and the rest are ranged on either side of him in the order

250 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

of their rank, so that the two men at the ends of the semi-
cu^cle are the newest in the orcte. In front of each medi-
cine-man is the sacred " Mother/' the chief implement of all
medicine-branches — a flawless ear of white corn, with a tuft
of do^ATiy feathers at the top, and tm-quoise ornaments * And
in front of the Father of All Medicine is the cajete (earthen
bowl) of sacred water, in w^hose clear bosom he can see all
that is going on in the world !

When the public is seated, the medicine-men sing a sacred
song to make the people center then* thoughts on nothing
but the matter in hand. The Enghsh of this song would be
about as follows :

Now bring tlie Corn, Our Mother,

And all the common corn ;

In all our tlioughts and words

Let us do only good ;

In all our acts and words

Let us be all as one.

While this song is being sung over several times, the two
youngest medicine-men rise from their seats on the floor, and
step to where a bowl of sacred corn-meal stands before the
Father of All Medicine. Here they stand and pray, at each
request picking up a pinch of the meal and blomng part of
it toward the Father of All Medicine and part toward the
Mother-Corn. Then they go down the aisle, wliich is kept
open, to the door, crossing and snapping their eagle-feathers
to toss up and blow away any e\dl thought that may be in the
crowd. By the time they return to the open space the song

* The emblem of the soul.

DOCTOEING THE YEAR. 251

is ended and another is begun ; and now the next youngest
pair of medicine-men rise and join the first, going through
the same performance. This is kept np till nearly all the
medicine-men are on their feet together. Then begins the
wonderful sleight of hand, which is the most startling feature
of all, and the one which maintains the superstitious power
of the shamans over their people. It is described in another
chapter. This conjuring, which is the ''Medicine-Dance"
proper, continues through five songs. Then the performers
take their seats for a rest, and smoke cigarettes which the
Cum-pa-huit-la-wen roll for them, and presently rise to re-
sume their magic.

When this medicine-making is done — which is only when
all present are cured of all theu' real or imaginary diseases
— comes the equally important Ta-ivin-lx6or-slialin-mee-ee, the
sacred '' going-out-for-the-year." The Father of All Medicine
rises, with the two next in rank to himself, and dances awhile.
Then he puts on his left hand and arm a great glove of the
skin of a bear's fore-leg, with the claws on ; and upon each
foot a similar boot from the bear's hind-leg. In the glove he
sticks his eagle-feathers ; Init his two assistants, who do not
have the bear-trappings, carry their feathers in theii* hands.
While these three shamans stand in a row before the assem-
blage, the others sing for them a special song :

Ai-ay, ai-ay, hyali ay-ah
Ay-ah, ay-ah, ay-ah !

After the Snn-Father

We will follow, follow, follow I

252 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

When this song is sung a second time, the Father of All
Medicine goes behind his two assistants and looks in the
sacred cajete^ to find if it be time to go out. Seeing that it
is, he starts on a half -run to the door, followed by the two
others. There are always two Cum-pa-huit-la-wen at the door,
and one of these accompanies the three shamans. They
go to a certain point on the bank of the Rio Grande, and
there receive the omens which they declare the river brings
down to them from its source in the home of the Trues
of the North. Among these tokens are always bunches
of green blades of corn and wheat — many weeks before a
spear of either cereal is gi^owing out-of-doors within hun-
dreds of miles of here. Last year " the river brought them "
also a live rabbit — which is much more easily accounted for
— as a sign that it would be a good year for game.

Returning with these articles, they enter the medicine-
house, and show thoui to the w^hole assemblage. If the leaves
are green and lusty, it will be a good j^ear for crops ; l)ut if
they are yellow, there will be a drought. Then the three
^'Goers-Out" lay the articles before their medicine-seats and
sit down for a rest.

Then the medicine-making song is resumed, and the con-
juring begins again, and is kept up almost all night.

After a possil)le mtch-chase (described in another chapter)
comes the sacred water-giving. The two youngest shamans
take the cajetes and carry them before the crowd. To each
person they give a mouthful, pra^dng the Trues to give him
a clean heart, strength, and health. The recipient does not

DOCTORING THE YEAR. 253

swallow all the water, but blows a little on liis hands and
rubs it upon his body, believing that it will give him strength.

After all have had the sacred water, the next eeremonv is
the Kd-liee-roon, the " Mother-Shaking." The Father of All
Medicine takes up all the (corn) " Mothers," two at a time,
and shakes them over the heads of the seated audience, rain-
ing a shower of seeds. The people eagerly scramble for these
seeds, for it is firmly believed that he who puts even one of
them with his spring planting will secure a very large crop.

All the audience who desn^e now go in front of the semi-
circle of seated medicine-men and pray, scattering the sacred
corn-meal on the row of "Mothers." Then all sing a long
song, of which the verse has the follomug meaning :

Now ! Now !

Our Mother, Corn Mother !
Her Sun is coming up !
Our Mother, Corn Mother !
Her Sun is arriving !
Our Mother, Corn Mother !
Her Sun is entering !
She is the one who
Gives us the road.
She is the one who
Makes the road.
She is the one who
Points the road to us !

This song is a sort of benediction, and is sung standing.
It is begun when the morning sun is really coming up be-
hind the mountains, and the Father of All Medicine can no
longer delay to "give them the road" — that is, dismiss the

254 SOME STRANGE COENERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

meeting. He rises and prays to the Trnes to bless all present
and those who were unable to attend, and to croAvn the year
with success to all. Then he says : "A road is given you/'
and the people all file out, and when once outside put on
theii' moccasins and hurry home.

After they are gone, all the women bring to the door offer-
ings of food, which are set before the medicine-men by the
Common Mother, and they eat heartily after their long and
trying fast. What is left is di\aded among them to be taken
home. Having eaten and smoked, the medicine-men wash
off the cei'cmonial paint, resume their ordinary clothing,
close the medicine-house, and return to their homes. That
is the end of the TH-shee-ivim, and the year is now supjiosed
to be safely started toward a successful issue — which will
largely depend, however, upon later and special medicine-
makings for special occasions and emergencies.

XXI.

AN ODD PEOPLE AT HO^IE.

|N this view of the Strange Corners we ought cer-
tainly to include a glimpse at the home-life of
the Pueblos. A social organization which looks
upon children as belonging to tlie mother and
not to the father; which makes it absolutely
imperative that husband and wife shall be of different divi-
sions of society ; which makes it impossible for a man to
own a house, and gives every woman entire control of her
home — wdth many other equally remarkable points of eti-
quette— is surely different from what most of us are used
to. But in the neglected corners of om* own country there
are ten thousand citizens of the United States to whom these
curious arrangements .are endeared by the customs of im-
memorial centuries.

The basis of society in the twenty-six quaint toivn-rei^ublics
of the Pueblos — communities which are by far the most
peaceful and the best-governed in North America — is not the
family, as with us, but the clan. These clans are clusters of
families — arbitrary social divisions, of which there are from

256 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

six to sixteen in each Pueblo town. In Isleta there are six-
teen clans — the Sun People, the Earth People, the Water-
Pebble People, the Eagle People, the Mole People, the Ante-
lope Peoj)le, the Deer People, the Mountain-Lion People, the
Turquoise People, the Parrot People, the WTiite Corn Peoi)le,
the Red Corn People, the Blue Corn People, the Yellow Corn
People, the Goose People, and the Wolf People. Every In-
dian of the eleven hundi-ed and fifty in the pueblo belongs
to one of these clans. A man of the Eagle People cannot
marry a woman of that clan, nor vice versa. Husband and
wife must be of different clans. Still odder is the law of de-
scent. With us — and all civilized nations — descent is from
the father ; Init with the Pueblos, and nearly all aboriginal
peoples, it is from the mother. For instance, a man of the
Wolf Clan nuirries a woman of the Mole Clan. Their chil-
di-en belong not to the Wolf People but to the Mole People,
by bii-th. But if the parents do not personally like the head
man of that clan, they can have some friend adopt the cliil-
di'cn into the Sun or Earth or any other clan.

There are no Indian family names 5 but aU the people here
have taken Spanish ones — and the children take the name of
theii- mother and not of their father. Thus, my landhidy is
the ^^ife of Antonio Jojola. Her own name is Maria Gracia
Chiliuiliui ; and then- roly-poly son — avIio is commonly knoT\Ti
as Juan Gordo, " Fat John," or, as often, since I once photo-
gi-aphed him crawling out of an adobe oven, as Juan Biscocho,
"John Biscuit" — is Juan Chihuihui. If he grows up to
marry and have children, they will not be Chihuihuis nor Jo-

AN ODD PEOPLE AT HOME. 257

jolas, but will bear the Spanish last name of his wife. This
puebloj however, is changing* from the old customs more than
are any of the other towns ; and in some families the chil-
dren are divided, the sons bearing the father's name, and the
daughters the mother's. In their own language, each Indian
has a single name, which belongs to him or her alone, and is
never changed.

The Pueblos almost without exception now have their
childi'en baptized in a Christian chui'ch and given a Spanish
name. But those who are " True Believers " in " the Ways of
the Old " have also an Indian christening. Even as I WTite,
scores of dusky, dimpled babes in this puel)lo are being given
strange Tigua names by stalwart godfathers, who hold them
up l)efore the line of dancers who celebrate the spring open-
ing of the great main ii'rigating-ditch. Here the christening
is performed by a friend of the family, who takes the babe to
the dance, selects a name, and seals it by putting his lijis to
the child's lips.* In some pueblos this office is performed l)y
the nearest woman-friend of the mother. She takes the child
from the house at dawn on the third day after its birth, and
names it after the first object that meets her eye after the
sun comes up. Sometimes it is Bluish-Light-of-Da"v\ai, some-
times AiTow-(ray)of-the-Sun, sometimes TaU-Broken-Pine —

* My o\Yn little girl, born in the pueblo of Isleta, was formally
christened by an Indian friend, one day, and has ever since been known
to the Indians as T'hnr-be-say, "the Rainbow of the Sun." For a
month after her birth they came daily to see her, bringing little gifts
of silver, calico, chocolate, eggs, Indian pottery, and the like, as is one
of their customs.

258 SOME STRANGE CORXERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

and so on. It is tMs cnstom wldch gives rise to many of the
Indian names which seem so odd to ns.

"Wlien a child is born in a Pneblo town, a cimons duty
devolves upon the father. For the next eight days he must
keep a fii-e going — no matter what the weather — in the
quaint little fogon or adobe fii'eplace^ and see that it never
goes out by day or night. This sacred birth-fire can be kin-
dled only in the religious ways — by the fire-drill, flint and
steel, or by a brand from the hearth of the cacique. If pater-
familias is so unlucky as to let the birth-fire go out, there is
but one thing for him to do. Wrapping his blanket around
him, he stalks solemnly to the house of the cacique, enters,
and seats himscK on the floor l)y the hearth — for the cacique
must ahrat/s have a fli'C. He dare not ask for what he wants ;
but making a cigarette, he lights it at the coals and improves
the opportunity to smuggle a lining coal under his blanket
— generally in no better receptacle than his own tough, bare
hand. In a moment he rises, bids the cacique good-by, and
hurries home, carefully nursing the sacred spark, and with it
he rekindles tlie l)irth-fire. It is solemnlv believed that if this
fii^e were relighted in any other manner, the child woidd not
live out the year.

The Pueblo men — contrary to the popular idea about all
Indians — take a very generous share in caring for their
children. When they are not occupied with the duties of
busy farmers, then fathers, gi'andfathers, and great-grand-
fathers are generally to be seen each with a fat infant slung
iu the ])lanket on his back, its big eyes and plump face peep-

AN ODD PEOPLE AT HOME. 259

ing over his shoulder. The white-haired Governor, the stern-
faced War-Captain, the grave Prhiciixdes — none of them are
too dignified to " tote " the baby np and down the courtyard
or to the public square and to solemn dances; or even to
dance a remarkable domestic jig, if need be, to calm a squall
from the precious riders upon their backs.

A Pueblo town is the childi'en's paradise. The parents
are fairly ideal in their relations to their childi'en. They are
uniformly gentle, yet never foolishly indulgent. A Pueblo
child is almost never punished, and almost never needs to
be. Obedience and respect to age are born in these brown
young Americans, and are never forgotten by them. I never
saw a "spoiled child" in all my long acquaintance with
the Pueblos.

The Pueblo woman is absolute owner of the house and all
that is in it, just as her husband owtis the fields which he
tills. He is a good farmer and she a good housewife. Fields
and rooms are generally models of neatness.

The Pueblos marry under the laws of the chm^ch ; but many
of them add a strange ceremony of their own — which was
their custom when Columbus discovered America. The be-
trothed couple are given two ears of raw corn ; to the youth
a blue ear, but to the maiden a white one, because her heart
is supposed to be whiter. They must prove their devotion
by eating the very last hard kernel. Then they run a sacred
foot-race in presence of the old councilors. If the gui comes
in ahead, she '^ wins a husband " and has a little ascendancy
over him ; if he comes in first to the goal, he " wins a wife."

260 SOME STRANGE COENERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

If the two come in together, it is a bad omen, and the match
is declared off.

Pueblo etiquette as to the acquaintance of young people is
extremely strict. No youth and maiden must walk or talk
together ; and as for a \isit or a private conversation, both
the offenders — no matter how mature — would be soundly
whijDped by their parents. Acquaintance between young peo-
ple before marriage is limited to a casual sight of each other,
a shy greeting as they pass, or a word when tliej- meet in
the presence of their elders. Matches are not made by the
parents, as was the case with their Mexican neighbors until
very recently — and as it still is in many Em'opean countries
— but maiTiages are never against the parental consent.
Wlien a boy wishes to marry a certain girl, the parents con-
duct all the formal '^ asking for" her and other preliminaries.

The very curious division of the sexes which the Spanish
found among the Pueblos three hundred and fifty years ago
has now almost entirely disappeared — as have also the com-
munitv-houses which resulted from the svstem. In old times
only the women, girls, and yoimg children lived in the dwell-
ings. The men and bo^-s sle2)t always in the estufa. Thither
theii' ^vives and mothers brought their meals, themselves
eating with the children at home. 80 there was no family
home-life, and never was until the brave Spanish mission-
aries gradually brought about a change to the real home that
the Indians so much enjoy to-day.

When an Indian dies, there are manv curious ceremonials
besides the attempts to throw the \Wtches off the track of

AN ODD PEOPLE AT HOME. 261

his si^irit. Food must be provided for the soiil's four days'
journey j and property must also be sent on to give the de-
ceased " a good start " in the next workl. If the departed was
a man and had horses and cattle, some of them are killed that
he may have them in the Beyond. His gun, his knife, his
bow and arrows, his dancing-costume, his clothing, and other
personal property are also ^^ killed" (in the Indian phrase), by
burning or breaking them ; and by this means he is supposed
to have the use of them again in the other world — where he
will eat and hunt and dance and farm just as he has done
here. In the vicinity of every Pueblo town is always a
"kilhng-place" — entirely distinct and distant from the con-
secrated graveyard where the body is laid — and there the
gi'oimd is strewn with countless broken weapons and orna-
ments, earthen jars, stone hand-mills, and other utensils —
for when a woman dies, her household furniture is ^^ sent on "
after her in the same fashion. The precious beads of coral,
turquoise, and silver, and the other silver jewehy, of which
these people have great quantities, is generally laid away with
the body in the bare, brown gi-aveyard in front of the great
adobe chui'ch.

XXII.

A SAINT IN COURT.

illlLE law ill the abstract may deserve its repu-
tation as one of the driest of subjects, tlie
history of its development, provisions, and ap-
plications contains much that is cm-ious and
interestmg. There have been, among different
nations and in different ages, laws remarkal)le for eccentri-
city ; and as for the astonishing causes in which the aid of
justice has been invoked, a mere catalogue of them would be
of ax)palling length. Nor are these legal curiosities confnied
to bygone ages and half-civilized nations. Om* own coun-
try has furnished laws and lawsuits perhaps as remarkable
as any.

Among these suits, none is more interesting than one of
the few legal contests in which the Pueblo Indians have ever
figiu-ed. With these quiet, decorous, kind, and simple-hearted
childi-en of the Sun, quarrels of any sort are extremely rare,
and legal controversies still rarer ; but there was one lawsuit
between two of the principal Pueblo towns which excited gi-eat
interest among all the Indians and Mexicans of the territory,
and the few Saxon- Americans who were then here ; wliich

A SAINT IN COURT. 263

nearly made a war — a lawsuit for a saint ! It was finally ad-
judicated by the Supreme Court of New Mexico in Januaiy,
1857. It figures in the printed reports of that high tribunal,
under the title, '' The Pueblo of Laguna vs. The Pueblo of
Acoma" — being an appeal in the case of Acoma vs. Laguna.
Of all the nineteen pueblos of New Mexico, Acoma is by
far the most wonderful. Indeed, it is probably the most re-
markable city in the world. Perched upon the level summit
of a gi'eat " box " of rock whose perpendicular sides are nearly
four hundi^ed feet high, and reached by some of the dizziest
paths ever trodden by human feet, the prehistoric town looks
far across the wilderness. Its quaint terraced houses of gi'ay
adobe, its huge chui'ch — hardly less wonderful than the pyra-
mids of Egypt as a monument of patient toil — its great
reservoir in the solid rock, its superb sceneiy, its romantic
history, and the strange customs of its six hundred people,
aU are rife with interest to the few Americans who visit the
isolated city. Neither history nor tradition tells us when
Acoma was founded. The j)uel)lo was once situated on top
of the Mesa Encantada (Enchanted Table-land), which rises
seven hundred feet in air near the mesa now occupied. Four
hundred years ago or so, a frightful storm swept away the
enormous leaning rock which served as a ladder, and the
patient people — who were away at the time — had to build a
new city. The present Acoma was an old town when the first
Eurojiean — Coronado, the famous Spanish explorer — saw it
in 1540. With that its authentic history begins — a strange,
weird history, in scattered fragments, for which we must

264 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

delve among the cimoiis "memorials" of tlie Spaiiisli con-
querors and the scant records of the heroic priests.

Laguna hes about twenty miles northeast of Acoma, and
is now a familiar sight to travelers on the A. & P. R. R.,
which skirts the base of the sloping rock on which the town
is built. It is a much younger town than Acoma, of which
it is a daughter colony, but has a half more people. It was
founded in 1699.

One of the notable things about the venerable Catholic
churches of New Mexico is the number of ancient paintings
and statues of the saints which they contain. Some are the
rude daid)s on wood made by devout Indians, and some are
the canvases of prominent artists of Mexico and Spain. It
was concerning one of the latter that the curious lawsuit be-
tween Laguna and Acoma arose.

There is consideral)le mysteiy concerning this picture,
arising from the lack of "v\Titten history. The painting of
San Jose* (St. Joseph) was probably the one presented by
Charles II. of Spain. Entregas, in his "Visits," enumer-
ates the pictures which he found in the Laguna cliurch in
1773, and mentions among them "a canvas of a yard and a
half, with the most holy likeness of St. Joseph witli his blue
mark, the which was presented by Our Lord the King."
The Acomas, however, claim that the king gave the picture
to them originally, and there is no doubt that it was in their
possession over a hundred years ago.

Wlien brave Fray Ramirez founded his lonely mission in

* Pronounced tSahu Ho-z(hj.

A SAINT IN COURT. 265

Acoma in 1G29, lie dedicated the little adobe chapel " To God,
to the Holy Catholic Church, and to St. Joseph." San Jose
was the patron saint of the pueblo, and when the fine Spanish
painting of him was hung on the dull walls of a later church,
it became an object of peculiar veneration to the simple na-
tives. Theh' faith in it was touching. Whether it was that
the attacks of the merciless Apache might be averted, or that
a pestilence might be checked, or that their crops might be
abundant, it was to San Jose that they went with prayers
and votive offerings. And as generation after generation
was born, hved its quaint life, and was at last laid to rest in
the wonderful graveyard, the veneration of the painting grew
stronger and more clear, while oil and canvas were growing
dim and moldy.

Many years ago — we do not know the date — the people of
Laguna found themselves in a veiy bad way. Several suc-
cessive crops had failed them, winter storms had wiTjught
havoc to house and farm, and a tenrible epidemic had carried
off scores of children. And all this time Acoma was pros-
pering wonderfully. Acoma believed it was because of San
Jose ; and Laguna began to believe so too. At last the gov-
ernor and principal men of Laguna, after solemn council,
mounted their silver-trapped ponies, -v^Tapped their costliest
blankets about them, and rode over valley and mesa to " the
City in the Sky." A runner had announced their coming,
and they were formally received by the principales of Acoma,
and escorted to the dark estufa. After a propitiatory smoke
the Laguna spokesman began the speech. They all knew
23

2CG SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

how liis pueblo had suffered, while Laguna had no saint
on whom they could rely. It was now the fii'st of March.
Holy Week was almost here, and Lasfuna desired to celebrate
it with unusual ceremonies, hoping thereby to secure divine
favor. Would Acoma kindlv lend San Jose to her sister
pueblo for a season, that he might bring his blessing to the
afflicted town ?

A white-headed Acoma replied for his people. They knew
how angTv Tata Dios had been with Laguna, and wished to
hel]) appease him if i)ossil)le. Acoma needed San Jose's pres-
ence in Holy Week ; but she was prosperous and would do
without him. She Avoidd lend him to Laguna for a month,
but then he must be returned witliout fail.

So next day, when the Laguna delegation started home-
ward, two strong men carried the precious canvas carefully
between them, and that niglit it liung upon the rudely dei*o-
rated walls of the Laguna church, while hundreds of solemn
Indians knelt l)ef()re it. And in the procession of Holy Week
it was borne in a little shrine about the town while its escort
fii-ed theu" rusty flint-locks in reiterant salute.

Old men tell me that there was a change in the fortunes of
Laguna from that day forth. At all events, when the month
was up the Lagunas did not retiu'n the boiTowed painting,
and the Acoma messengers who came next day to demand it
were informed that it would stay where it was miless Acoma
coidd take it by force of arms. The Acomas then appealed
to their priest. Fray Mariano de Jesus Lopez, the last of the
Franciscans here. He cited the principales of both pueblos

A SAINT IN COURT. 267

to appear before liim in Acoma on a certain day, bringing
the saint.

When they were all assembled there, the priest ordered a
season of prayer that God and San Jose would see justice
done in the matter at issue, and after this held mass. He
then suggested that they di-aw lots for the saint, to which
both pueblos cordially agreed, believing that God would di-
rect the result. It was a solemn and impressive sight when
all were gathered in the gi'eat, gloomy church. Near the
fdtar was a tinaja (earthen jar) covered with a white cloth.
At each side stood a wee Acoma gii4 di*essed in spotless white,
from the pano over her shoulders to the queer, boot-like buck-
skin leggings. Beside one of them was the old priest, who
acted for Acoma 5 and beside the other were Luis Saraceno
and Margarita Hernandez, on behalf of Laguna. Twelve
ballots were put in the tinaja and well shaken 5 eleven were
blank, the twelfth had a picture of the saint rudely drawn
upon it.

"Draw," said Fray Mariano, when all was ready; and
Maria thrust her httle arm into the jar and drew out a ballot,
which she handed to the priest. " Acoma, blank ! Draw,
Lolita, for Laguna." Lolita dived down and drew a blank
also. Maria drew the third ballot, and Lolita the fourth —
both blanks. And then a devout murmur ran through the
gathered Acomas as Maria drew forth the fifth paper, which
bore the httle picture of San Jose.

" God has decided in favor of Acoma," said the priest,
"and San Jose stays in his old home." The crowd poured

268 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

out of the chiu'ch, the Acomas hugging each other and
thanking God, the Lagunas walking surlily away.

Such a feast had never been in Acoma as the gi-atef ul people
began to prej^are ; but theii* rejoicing was short-hved. That
very evening a strong armed force of Lagunas came quietly
up the great stone " ladder " to the lofty town, and appeared
suddenly in front of the chui'ch. " Open the door/- they said
to the frightened sacristan, " or we will break it down. We
have come for the saint." The news ran through the httle
town like wild-fii"e. All Acoma w^as wild Tvith gi-ief and rage ;
and hopeless as a war with Laguna would have been, it would
have commenced then and there but for the counsel of the
priest. He exhorted his flock to avoid bloodshed and give
the saint up to the Lagunas, leaving a final decision of the
dispute to the courts. His advice prevailed ; and after a few
hours of excitement the Lagunas departed with theh' precious
booty.

As soon thereafter as the machinery of the law could be set
in motion, the Pueblos of Acoma filed in the District Court
of the Second Judicial District of New Mexico a bill of
Chanceiy vs. the Pueblo of Laguna, setting forth the above
facts in detail.

They also asked that a receiver be appointed to take charge
of San Jose till the matter should be decided. The Lagunas
promptly filed an answer setting forth that they knew noth-
ing of Acoma's claim that the picture was originally given to
Acoma ; that by their own traditions it was clearly the prop-
erty of Laguna, and that Acoma stole it 5 that they went

A SAINT IN COURT. 269

peaceably to reclaim it, and Acoma refused to give it up ;
that Acoma proj^osed to draw lots for it, but they refused and
took it home.

Judge Kii'by Benedict, sitting as chancellor, heard this
extraordinary case, and the evidence being overwhehningly
in favor of Acoma, decided accordingly. The Lagunas ap-
pealed to the Supreme Court, which after most careful inves-
tigation affirmed the decision of the chancellor. In rendering
his decision the judge said :

"Having disposed of all the points, . . . the com't deems it
not improper to indulge in some reflections on this interest-
ing case. The history of this i)ainting, its obscm^e origin, its
age, and the fierce contest which these two Indian pueblos
have carried on, bespeak the inappreciable value which is
placed upon it. The intrinsic value of the oil, paint, and cloth
by which San Jose is represented to the senses, it has been
admitted in argument, probably would not exceed twenty-
five cents; but this seemingly worthless painting has well-
nigh cost these two pueblos a bloody and ciiiel struggle, and
had it not been for weakness on the pai't of one of the pueb-
los, its history might have been written in blood. . . . One
-witness swore that unless San Jose is in Acoma, the people
cannot prevail with God. All these supposed virtues and at-
tributes pertaining to this saint, and the belief that the throne
of God can be successfully approached only through him,
have contributed to make this a case of deep interest, involv-
ing a portraiture of the feelings, passions, and character of
these peculiar people. Let the decree below be affii'med."

270 SOME STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.

This settled the matter, and Acoma sent a delegation to
take the saint to his home. Half-way to Laguna they found
the painting resting against a tree beside the road, the face
toward Acoma. To this day the simple people beheve that
San Jose knew he was now fi^ee, and w^as in such haste to get
back to Acoma that he started out by himself ! The dim and
tattered canvas hangs beside the altar in the great chui'ch at
Acoma still, and will so long as a shred is left.

Fray Mariano, who thus averted a destructive war, met a
tragic end in 1848. He went out one morning to shoot a
chicken for dinner. His venerable pistol would not work
till he looked into it to see what was the matter. Then it
went off and blew out his brains.

These are a few of the Strange Corners of our own coun-
try. There are very many more, of which others can tell you
much better than I. Tliis book is meant to call youi' atten-
tion chief! V to the southwest, which is the most remarkable
area in the United States and the most neglected — though
by no means the only one worth learning about and seeing.
The whole West is full of wonders, and we need not run to
other lands to gratify our longing for the cm-ious and the
wonderful. The trip abroad may at least be postponed until
we are ready to tell those we shall meet in foreign lands
something of the wonders of oui* own.

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